


Ghosts From a Dream (Where We Once Lived)

by orderlychaos



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, HYDRA Reveal, M/M, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Friendship, Temporary Character Death, This has a happy ending I promise, additional SHIELD agents, background Maria/Sharon, background Nick/Melinda/Jasper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 179,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: When you walk through fire, you can’t expect to come out unscathed.  But that’s what SHIELD agents did.  They gave themselves over to the flames, let it consume them, so that others wouldn’t have to.Three months ago, Agent Phillip Coulson died on the Helicarrier.  Today, he woke up, but the world he finds is not the one he left behind.  Nick Fury is no longer the Director of SHIELD, and Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff have been imprisoned by the World Security Council.  As secrets and lies swirl around them, the agents loyal to SHIELD struggle to find the truth of what is going on.And then Hydra re-emerges.Phil and Clint, left in the ashes of their world, must decide who to trust as they struggle to find each other and attempt to piece SHIELD back together.  The world needs saving, one more time, because not even Hydra can keep a good SHIELD agent down.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 235
Kudos: 177





	1. Phil

**Author's Note:**

> They say it takes a village to raise a baby, and in this case of this fic that is entirely true. There are too many people to thank by name, but a giant thank you to everyone who listened to me complain and rant about this fic. Hopefully, as you read it, it will all be worth it.
> 
> This fic starts by going AU after the events of the first Avengers movie. It incorporates a lot of elements from Captain America: the Winter Soldier and Agents of SHIELD, but not everything. However, as a result of this, Daisy Johnson is referred to as Skye for most of this fic because, like at the start of Agents of SHIELD, she has yet to learn about a lot of her past. Also, I have not included the Inhuman plotline in this because I already had too many plotlines to deal with.
> 
> This work has taken me about four years since I first started it, and it is almost complete. I will be posting chapters every few days. It will also have a happy ending, I promise!

_Location Unknown_

Phil Coulson jolted awake, jerking upright as the ghostly echoes of explosions rang in his ears. A bright white pain seared through his chest, almost sharp enough to send him crashing back to unconsciousness. Phil gasped for breath, steel bands squeezing the air from his lungs, and his heart thundered painfully against his ribs. Instinctively, Phil fumbled for a weapon, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. A cold, mocking voice echoed around him, but Phil couldn’t pinpoint the source. _Loki. Was Loki there?_

Time warped, a second stretching like eternity. The bands around his chest tightened even further, and he couldn’t suck in a full breath, the air choking his throat. Vaguely, Phil was aware that he was panicking, but the rational part of his brain was drowned out by the fact that _he didn’t know where he was_.

“Phil?”

Phil jerked at the sound of his name, the movement jarring his tense muscles and sending white-hot pain jolting through his chest again. He hissed out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting to stay upright.

“Easy.” Cool hands grabbed his biceps, helping him sit up among the blankets holding him down like ropes. Phil had a momentary flare of panic at the touch before the cool hands withdrew. The voice was familiar, too, but the name kept floating away no matter how many times Phil tried to tie it down.

“Deep breaths,” the voice commanded. “In and out.”

Phil blinked, and a wall covered in grey, peeling paint gradually swam into focus. That wasn’t the Helicarrier bulkhead. Turning his head, Phil blinked again, this time focusing on a face surrounded by dark hair. When the woman’s features crystallized, Phil jerked backwards with a hoarse cry. The movement caused another flare of agony through his chest, but the pain helped clear his thoughts. Phil hadn’t seen Melinda May in years, not since Bahrain, and it didn’t make sense to see her now.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and, for a second, he was back on the Helicarrier. The metal bulkhead was hard and icy beneath him, his blood scalding in contrast, and his vision dimming as the blinding agony from Loki’s scepter faded away. Nick Fury’s face hovered in front of him, raw with pain, and death was creeping up on him with freezing fingers.

Phil had never expected to wake up.

And yet… here he was.

Shaking himself out of the memory, Phil pressed his hand against his chest, right where the scepter had come out. His nails bit into his skin through his t-shirt, the pain reassuring Phil this wasn’t an illusion. His heart still hammering against his ribs, Phil yanked up the hem of his t-shirt until he’d bared the skin. Swallowing, all Phil could do was stare at the pink, healing scars and the long, jagged line where the scepter had pierced his chest. How was this possible? There were no stitches, no bandages. No blood or gaping wound. The room wasn’t filled with machines, and no nurses had come running when he’d woken up.

How long had he been gone?

“Breathe, Phil. Come on, breathe for me,” Melinda commanded.

Phil sucked in a long, shuddering breath, following the order before he’d made a conscious choice. He needed to calm down. Figure out where he was. Focusing on his heartbeat, Phil attempted to regulate his breathing. He could do this. He’d faced down drug runners and wannabe supervillains and an _Asgardian nightmare_ with his pulse hardly rising. He could face whatever this was with the same calm.

As the rest of his training kicked in, Phil flicked his gaze swiftly over his surroundings. There was no furniture aside from the bed Phil was sitting in and a wooden chair in the corner, and the carpet was threadbare. A small, faded landscape painting hung on the wall, and the remains of cobwebs still gathered in the corners.

When the tug of the drip in his arm distracted him, Phil glanced up. Several IV bags hung from a pole, but none had labels. It reminded Phil of every other time he’d been injured and stuck in SHIELD Medical. Only, it so very clearly wasn’t.

Phil clenched the fingers of his free hand into a fist. “Where am I?” he demanded, his voice rougher and far weaker than he’d expected.

“You’re safe,” Melinda said, her voice calm and soothing. She stepped back and dropped her arms carefully to her sides.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Phil growled, his eyes flicking between Melinda and the door.

Melinda’s face shuttered. “Nick would be better at explaining this.”

 _Nick_ . Phil’s mind latched onto the name. A great swirling vortex of fear and anger raged in his chest, pushing out against his ribs and clawing at his throat. What the _hell_ was going on? _How_ was he still alive?

“Yes,” he rasped. “ _Please_.”

Melinda nodded once. “Stay here,” she commanded and disappeared out the door.

Thoughts of Nick gave way as memories crowded into Phil’s head. The Tesseract. Loki. _Clint_. What had happened to Clint? Where was he?

Pushing back the blankets, Phil swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He’d lost weight and muscle while he was… asleep? Unconscious? Ignoring the spike of pure fear that clenched his stomach, Phil concentrated on standing. His legs shook and his knees almost buckled, but he stubbornly clung to the IV pole. He needed to find a weapon and figure out where the hell he was. Everything else could wait.

Sucking in a deep breath, Phil fought to keep his heartbeat calm. If Nick was here -- wherever this was -- that raised a whole lot of questions Phil wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to. Maybe Loki --

Phil ruthlessly cut that thought off. _No_. He wasn’t thinking like that. Clint… Clint was one of the strongest people Phil had ever met. He was probably fine. Natasha would have saved him. Phil swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut. Both his assets were fine. They had to be.

Rushed footsteps approached, and Phil opened his eyes. The Nick Fury who appeared in the doorway was not the commanding presence Phil had grown so used to. Instead, Nick was _ragged_. His face was lined, deep shadows under his eye, and his shoulders bowed under an invisible weight. Even his clothing sagged, his worn cargo pants and black sweater hanging off his frame.

“Phil,” he whispered, shutting his eye as his face went slack with relief.

Phil’s blood turned to ice, his stomach cramping. “What is it?” he rasped. “What happened?”

Melinda, who was standing just behind Nick, nudged him into the room. Phil blinked because underneath the calm there was strain and exhaustion in Melinda’s face, too.

“What happened?” Nick snapped, his gaze boring into Phil’s. “What happened is you _died_ , Phil.” Nick sucked in a shaky breath. “I couldn’t let that happen. I…” Nick swallowed, his expression raw.

All the pain and grief Nick was barely keeping at bay flickered across his face, and Phil drew in a shaking breath of his own. “So I didn’t die after all?” he said, hating how lost he sounded.

“No, you died,” Melinda said bluntly, never one to mince words. No matter how she tried, though, she couldn’t keep her own grief from shining in her dark eyes.

Despite the swirling vortex of his own pain and confusion, something started to thaw in Phil’s chest. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, hating the way his voice shook. “Can you maybe stop hovering in the doorway and start explaining? I _really_ need to know what’s going on, Nick.”

“First, you need to get back into bed,” Melinda said.

Phil did as she asked, mainly because he wasn’t sure his knees could keep holding him up. Nick helped him cross back to the bed, and then instead of retreating, Nick sat down at the end of it. Melinda carefully helped Phil arrange himself so he could sit with his back pressed up against the wall and look Nick in the eye. Then she took a position behind Nick’s left shoulder so Phil could see her, too. She folded her hands behind her back and braced herself like a soldier waiting for a reprimand.

“You’ve been in and out for about three days now,” Nick said softly. “The doctors weren’t even sure you were going to wake up at all.”

Phil swallowed. A heavy weight settled across his shoulders, his stomach gripped with icy cold. He’d always thought he’d made peace with death and dying, but it was a hell of a lot different when you actually _did._

Nick quirked his lips in a momentary smile, but the humour didn’t reach his gaze. “I learned to stop betting against you a long time ago, Cheese,” he said. “You’re a stubborn bastard at the best of times.”

“So you keep telling me,” Phil replied, his voice rough.

“Maybe you’ll listen this time,” Nick said. Sucking in a breath, he met Phil’s gaze. “Before I tell you anything else, there’s something I need to ask you, Phil.” Nick’s face and voice held a gravity that was rare, even for him. “Your… death.” Nick stumbled slightly over the word. “You have to promise me that you won’t go poking around into how I brought you back. It’s…” Nick closed his eye. “I’m not going to apologize for it. I needed you back, and I moved heaven and earth to make it happen.” Nick opened his eye again. “Just, please. Don’t ask me how. Can you do that for me, Phil?”

Phil swallowed. Nick met his gaze unflinchingly, but there was still a deep undercurrent of _fear_ in Nick’s expression. Slowly, Phil nodded. Whatever Nick had done hadn’t been easy, and as much as Phil wanted answers, he wouldn’t ask. When it came down to it, he _trusted_ Nick, right to the depths of his soul. “I promise, Nick,” he said. “I won’t poke. I won’t ask.”

Nick let out a breath. “Okay.” Nick straightened his shoulders and locked his raw emotions behind the mask of the Director. “We have a situation,” he said. “And it’s complicated as hell, so bear with me.” At Phil’s wary nod, Nick cleared his throat. “First of all, it’s been three months since the Helicarrier and Loki.”

Phil froze, his stomach cramping. _Three months_ . Fuck. Phil couldn’t think. That was _impossible_. Wasn’t it?

Biting the inside of his cheek, Phil tried to stop all the questions welling up in his throat. It felt like only yesterday that he’d shut his eyes on the Helicarrier, but it hadn’t been. _Three months_. Phil sucked in a breath. Did Clint and Natasha even know he was alive?

“Okay,” he rasped out finally. Almost without thought, his hand came up to rest over his scar. It was remarkably healed for only three months, but Phil had made a promise, so he didn’t ask.

“And it gets worse, Phil,” Nick continued gravely.

Phil’s breath caught in his lungs. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the news that they hadn’t rescued Clint, that Clint --

“No, shit, Phil. Look at me.” Gathering what little strength he still had, Phil opened his eyes. Nick had moved closer, his normal mask cracked open and his gaze raw. “Clint and Natasha are alive. Loki’s control is gone. Hell, Loki isn’t even on this planet anymore,” Nick told him. He cut his eye to the side, just a flicker, but it was enough for Phil.

“But Clint and Natasha aren’t _safe_ ,” Phil voiced the unspoken words, icy fear sliding through him.

“No.” Nick tilted his chin up slightly as if bracing for Phil’s anger. “They aren’t.”

Phil stared at Nick, the sudden burst of burning rage snatching his breath and blistering the back of his throat. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell and scream at the unfairness of it all, but it wasn’t Nick’s fault. If there was one thing that Phil was certain of, it was how hard Nick would fight for his people.

“So what happened?” he asked, his voice as level as he could make it, locking all his twisting, burning emotions somewhere behind his ribs.

Nick huffed, his mouth curving into the bitter parody of a smile. “The same thing that happened to me, I guess. The World Security Council,” he said, his eye flicking away from Phil’s again before returning. “After your… death, the Avengers rallied. Natasha found Clint and gave him what she called a ‘cognitive recalibration’. He was fine, Phil. He flew Natasha and Captain Rogers into battle and did a hell of a job. They all did. Without the Avengers… things would have been a lot worse. They saved us.”

Phil nodded, because he’d expected no less. For a second, pride burst through the twisting fear. Nick had believed the Avengers could be amazing if they could work together, but Phil’s faith had always been in his assets. Clint and Natasha were incredible, determined, and stubborn. There was a reason that Strike Team Delta only had two permanent members. “So what happened afterwards?” Phil asked, because he could read between the lines to see where this was going.

Nick scowled. “The World Security Council decided they knew better than I did, and deposed me as Director of SHIELD.”

His eyes going wide, Phil stared at Nick. “What?” he rasped.

Nick’s smile was hard and bitter. “It’s mostly bullshit about not being able to follow orders, but I’m a wanted man,” he drawled. “SHIELD has orders to capture me on sight. I’m an enemy of the organization I fought and bled for.” His gaze cut to Phil’s. “I managed to scrape together enough resources to set up this base. I’ve called in a few favours from agents I trust, too, so don’t be shocked to see a few familiar faces roaming the corridors. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Phil narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly. “Nick, what are you trying to do?”

Nick sighed. “Figure out what the hell is going on, mostly,” he said. “I’ve had suspicions for a while that there was a ring of moles inside SHIELD. Mostly just minor things: intel not quite adding up or appearing just a fraction too late, missions that almost went wrong, but didn’t. Nothing that would raise flags, but it just seemed… off. None of the usual checks panned out, so I figured it was the WSC themselves. They’ve been shouting about greater oversight and control for years. Not even Secretary Pierce could put them off.”

Phil swallowed, taking a moment to digest the words. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” he asked.

Nick winced. “I was going to,” he replied softly, “but then Loki happened. Besides, I do trust a few other people, Cheese.”

Phil smiled wryly. “So you asked Maria, huh?”

“And me,” Melinda added softly.

“I started running a few ops off the book,” Nick explained. “Just information gathering. I wanted to figure out how many compromised agents I was dealing with.”

“And did you figure it out?” Phil asked softly. What the hell kind of shitstorm had he woken up to?

“No.” Nick’s face was grim. “The WSC happened before I could get to the bottom of it.” He paused, his jaw clenching for a moment. “Agent Sitwell and Deputy Director Hill are working on it from SHIELD’s end.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose. There were so many questions he wanted to ask: if Maria wasn’t the new Director, who was? Why was Nick so worried about moles inside SHIELD that he’d ask Jasper to look into it?

But there was one thing Phil _needed_ to find out first.

He took a deep breath. “Nick, what happened to Clint and Natasha?”

Nick looked straight at him, his gaze heavy with sorrow and guilt. “As far as I know, the WSC has them in custody,” he said quietly.

Phil had stood beside Nick, in the middle of many dangerous and impossible situations, but Nick had never _once_ been so hollowed out. “As far as you know?” Phil echoed.

Nick let out a breath. “After the Chitauri attack, Clint contacted SHIELD to come in for official debrief. I walked him all the way to that damn room, Phil. I wanted him to know that everything was going to be okay. It was only supposed to be a check to make sure that Loki was completely out of his head, but…” Nick squared his shoulders, as if bracing for a blow. “I tried, but the WSC got to them before I knew what was happening. I was so caught up in the charges against me and being removed as Director that I didn’t even know they’d been taken until they were gone.”

Phil nodded. A numb sort of calm had risen up, the twisting anger in his chest fading into something distant. “So they’ve been planning that move for a while,” he said. “They kept you distracted, so that Clint and Tasha would have fewer allies. Fewer people to warn them of the danger.”

“Phil…” Melinda stepped forward, her usual blank mask cracking enough to let her worry shine through.

“Are you doing anything to get them back?” Phil interrupted.

Nick’s jaw clenched before he forcibly relaxed it. “Wherever they were taken doesn’t have a paper trail,” he said. “Until we figure out where they’re being held, no one can launch a rescue mission. That includes you, Phil.”

“And how are you tracking them?” Phil demanded.

Melinda frowned and Nick’s face tightened, lines crinkling the corner of his eye. Right. Not the time for a strategy meeting. Phil had just woken up from being _dead_. He needed to give himself time to process that, and all the burning, twisting emotions he’d locked behind his ribs. To process what had happened after the battle, and what had happened to Clint and Natasha after that. “Please, just tell me you’re tracking them,” he whispered.

“We’re following the trail,” Nick said. “But, Phil. It’s not easy. The WSC hid their tracks well. I’m doing the best I can, but I don’t have SHIELD’s resources anymore.”

Phil nodded. Around him, the numb distance was starting to fracture, but he gritted his teeth and held on. “Why would the WSC even take them?” he muttered.

Nick snorted. “Because the WSC is a bunch of narrow-minded, bureaucratic assholes,” he replied. “In their black and white worldview, Natasha Romanoff will always be an enemy of the state because she’s the Black Widow. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s saved the world. Barton condemned himself in their eyes years ago by helping her.” Nick let out a breath, his gaze filled with quiet fury. “They’re also treating Loki’s influence like a contagion, and locking away every single damn one of my agents he brainwashed. Like damn criminals, Phil.”

“We’ll fix it,” Phil said. He wouldn’t rest until his assets were free, and neither would Nick or Melinda.

“Yes,” Melinda said, her voice hard and filled with angry determination. “We will.”

Nick let out another breath and eyed Phil warily. “We’ll talk more later. Right now, you need rest and to let the docs look you over. We’ll get to the rest of it soon enough.”

Phil opened his mouth, wanting to protest, to yell and shout until he got the answers he wanted, but Nick would never let him. Nick had always been able to match him in stubbornness. “Okay,” he agreed grudgingly. “But I want my answers, Nick.”

“I promise, Phil,” Nick replied. “I’ll give them to you.”

Nodding, Phil leaned back and allowed Nick to call in the doctors.

<*>

After Nick and Melinda left, exhaustion pulled at Phil, like concrete on his eyelids. He barely stayed awake long enough for Dr. Streiten and a nurse to come in and check Phil over. It wasn’t just physical -- Streiten was just as worried about Phil’s mind as his body. Phil tried not to think about it. After the examination was over, he sagged back against the pillows. Nick had slipped in earlier and left Phil a change of clothes, but as much as Phil wanted to, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to put them on.

Phil blinked awake again sometime later, his thoughts a little clearer. Rubbing a hand over his face, Phil sucked in a breath and threw his legs over the side of the bed. This time the movement only caused dull throbbing instead of blinding agony, but Phil still had to move slowly. Standing took effort, but Phil locked his knees and tried to draw the old, familiar cloak of Agent Coulson around him. The nurse had taken out his IV during the examination, so Phil had nothing to lean on, but damned if he was going to let anyone see him stumble. He’d survived _dying_. He could walk the few damn steps to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

At least concentrating on his steps took the focus off his swirling thoughts. Phil had no idea what he was feeling anymore. It was almost unbelievable. Nick had brought him back from _death_ . The fact that Phil was still breathing, or maybe breathing again, was a miracle, and Phil had no idea what to do with it. _Everything_ about his life was irrevocably different, changed by a spear and a madman, and Phil was drowning in the aftermath.

His grip on the door handle was white-knuckled when he opened it, but Phil gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t be the first time Phil had recovered from the lingering effects of prolonged unconsciousness. He’d never let it stop him before, and he wasn’t going to start now. Phil’s stumble into the corridor was less than graceful, but he managed to catch himself on the wall. He was grateful he wasn’t wearing one of those paper hospital gowns when someone gasped behind him.

“Oh! Sir! Are you alright?” The voice was impossibly young, and spoke with a precise English accent.

Turning his head, Phil found a young woman in a lab coat hovering nearby. Her hands were outstretched like she was going to catch him if he slipped. Phil appreciated the gesture, even if the young woman was more likely to go toppling over with him. Over her shoulder, an equally young man was biting his lip, his eyes darting all over the empty corridor. “I’m fine,” Phil said tightly.

“Yeah, no,” the young man said with a thick Scottish accent. “Jemma, we shouldn’t be here.”

“Fitz,” the young woman hissed back. “We can’t just leave him here.” She turned to Phil, smiling brightly. “We’ll help you back to your room now, sir. It’ll just take a minute.”

Phil bristled. He absolutely _hated_ being treated like an invalid, even when he was one. Sucking in a deep breath, Phil pushed himself away from the wall and straightened to his full height. He might not be as imposing as Nick Fury, but his sharp glare had both Jemma and Fitz quailing a little. Phil drew in another breath and softened his expression. It wasn’t Fitz and Jemma’s fault that Phil’s body wasn’t listening to his commands. 

“Thank you for the offer of assistance, but it won’t be necessary,” he grit out in as mild a tone as he could manage. It probably would have been more effective if Phil hadn’t sounded like he’d been swallowing nails.

“Are you sure, sir?” Jemma asked tentatively, stepping forward again.

“Yes.” Phil forced a smile, hoping it didn’t come out more like a grimace. “Very.”

Thankfully, Agent Barbara Morse rounded the corner before Jemma could call Phil out on his lie. Bobbi faltered slightly, her eyes widening a fraction as her gaze flickered from Jemma and Fitz to Phil. Phil bit back a grimace. Not because he didn’t want to see Bobbi -- it was just the opposite, actually. Phil’d had the honour of having worked with Bobbi numerous times in the past. She was an exceptional agent. Unfortunately, that came from her keen observational skills as well as her terrifying intelligence. Phil had about as much chance of bluffing his way past her as he would Melinda.

“Agent Coulson,” Bobbi greeted, her tone almost level. “It’s good to see you on your feet, sir.” Her lips curved up into a slight smile. “Well, more or less.”

Phil frowned, but he’d always found Bobbi’s genuine humour hard to resist. He sighed. “I’m _fine_ ,” he muttered.

The smile dropped from Bobbi’s face, her eyes pained. “It’s okay if you’re not, sir,” she said. “You… died.”

Closing his eyes, Phil cursed himself for the irrational prickle of tears. He was still breathing when by all rights, he shouldn’t be. It was stupid to get upset over that. Phil squashed down all the emotions that were threatening to spill loose again. Blinking open his eyes again, Phil cleared his throat. He tried to smile reassuringly, and this time it came out a little easier. “The doctors have assured me that I really am fine,” he said. And they mostly had, aside from a little weakness from the prolonged unconsciousness.

“Well, that’s good,” Fitz replied. “It would be really bad if you were a zombie.” He frowned when Jemma and Bobbi stared at him. “What? Zombies are creepy!”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma said.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Coulson,” Bobbi said as Jemma and Fitz started to bicker in earnest.

“Me, too,” Phil replied. He wondered how much dignity he’d lose if he continued to stagger towards the bathroom under Bobbi’s watchful gaze.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Bobbi turned to Jemma. “Dr. Simmons,” she said. “Fury wanted to see you. Now that you and Fitz are coming to the end of your vacation from SHIELD Academy, he wanted to talk to you about potential assignments.”

Jemma blinked, her smile widening. “Does this mean we’re going to get a proper field assignment? Because if Fury needs us in the field to keep an eye on… things, we can do that.” Her eyes were bright at the prospect, but beside her, Fitz swallowed heavily and grimaced.

“I’m sure Fury will explain everything,” Bobbi said, gently herding both Jemma and Fitz down the corridor.

Phil stayed exactly where he was, leaning against the wall until all three agents were out of sight. Then he carefully pushed himself up and started stumbling down the corridor again. By the time Phil shut the door to the bathroom behind him, his legs were shaking and his chest was aching. He staggered over to the sink and leaned his weight against the porcelain, sucking in a shuddering breath. Splashing water on his face, Phil tried to hang onto the ragged edges of his control.

To say Nick’s debrief had been an avalanche of information would have been an understatement. The metaphorical ground was shaking under Phil’s feet and had been ever since he’d woken up. Everything he’d held back behind his crumbling walls was threatening to spill out and bury him alive. Tightening his hands around the edges of the basin, Phil bowed his head, concentrating on his breathing. He couldn’t even look at his own reflection in the mirror, too scared of seeing a shadow of the man he once was. Except Phil had never been a coward. Hesitant and insecure, maybe, but he hadn’t run scared from arms dealers or drug smugglers or _Loki_ , so he sure as hell wasn’t going to run now.

Raising his head, Phil took a deep breath and looked his reflection straight in the eye. The man staring back wasn’t _him_.

It couldn’t be.

His face was thin, his skin pale, and the shadows under his eyes were like bruises. Stubble covered his jaw and cheeks, glinting silver in patches in the fluorescent light. The t-shirt he wore hung loose around his chest and stomach, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing, but it was a shock. Phil had such a clear memory of shaving in his tiny, cramped bathroom at the Pegasus facility, making himself another promise to lay off the donuts. It felt like days ago, but it had been _months_. Somehow Phil had blinked, and when he’d opened his eyes again, he was a hollowed out remnant of a man instead of the sleek agent he had been. Maybe this was how Steve Rogers felt, waking up after almost seventy years in the ice.

Of course, feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to help anyone. Stepping back, Phil stripped off his t-shirt, determined to confront his demons before they became rooted in his mind. The scar bisecting the skin almost right over his heart was raised and pink. Dying to give everyone a chance would have been worth it, but Phil wasn’t sure what living meant anymore.

It was clear he’d lost weight and muscle tone over his missing three months, but otherwise, there were no signs of what had healed him. A wave of frustrated impatience rose up to swallow him. He wanted to move, to fight, to start searching for Clint and Natasha. Not hobble between a bed and the bathroom. Clenching his jaw, Phil closed his eyes and breathed. He would deal with this the way that he dealt with everything -- with innate stubbornness and the application of concentrated explosives where necessary.

The first step would be changing into the sweat pants and faded Rangers t-shirt Nick had left him. After that, Phil was determined to track down some sort of phone or computer with internet access. It would be better if he could get into SHIELD’s files, but he doubted his security clearance worked anymore. If he could just figure out where everything stood, that might be enough. He could work on regaining his strength later, but Phil had always considered his mind to be his best weapon.

And he was going to use it.

<*>

Not long after Phil resettled himself in bed, now more comfortable with an extra pillow and blanket, Melinda reappeared. She stopped in the doorway, her lips quirking as if she was trying to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “I thought you might want this,” she said, holding up the slim Starktab she held in her hand.

“Thanks,” Phil replied, because now he wouldn’t have to steal someone’s phone.

Melinda nodded, stepping close enough to hand over the tablet before she stepped back. Phil frowned, because he didn’t want her to leave, and he owed her an apology anyway. “I’m sorry about before,” he said. “When I… you know.” He didn’t have a clue how to finish that sentence. “It’s good to see you, Melinda.”

“Likewise,” Melinda said, turning back to face him.

Phil cast about for something else to say. Things never used to be this awkward between Melinda and him, but Phil supposed that was another thing he could chalk up to dying.

Melinda huffed softly and took pity on him. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she said. “And when you’re up for it, we’ll hit the mats. Put you through your paces.” She narrowed her eyes. “But only _when_ you’re up for it.”

“Thanks. I think I need that,” Phil replied. He really did if he was going to rescue his assets from wherever they were.

“You do,” Melinda agreed bluntly. “You’ve needed that for years.”

His lips pulling into a rueful smile, Phil arched an eyebrow. “Is that your way of telling me I’m out of shape?”

Melinda shrugged, her expression clearly telling him that if he hadn’t thought so, he was deluding himself. Phil thought wistfully of donuts, because he definitely wasn’t getting any now. “Yeah, okay. You might have a point,” he said.

It wasn’t quite a sigh, but Melinda let out a breath before she crossed the room to sit next to Phil on the bed. “You’ll get through this, Phil,” she said, her voice holding an undercurrent of an emotion Phil couldn’t quite place. Bahrain had been hard on everyone, but it was nothing compared to what Melinda had gone through. If anyone understood what it was like to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, it was her. “You just have to take it one step at a time.”

Phil made a face. “I think that’s the part I’m having trouble with,” he said.

Melinda shot him a sidelong look. “I can fix that.”

Huffing, Phil let the memories of shared missions wash over him. Melinda had kicked his ass in the name of training more than once. “I don’t doubt it,” he said.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Melinda turned to him. “You know I have your back, right?” she said. “No matter what happens?”

Phil swallowed, letting the truth of Melinda’s words sink into his bones. Field agent or not, Melinda had always been someone Phil trusted, but when he’d woken up, he hadn’t. Melinda deserved better than that. “I do,” he said.

“Then sleep,” Melinda said, getting to her feet. “You’re going to need it.”

Phil nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

<*>


	2. Clint

_ WSC Secure Prison Facility, Location Unknown _

Clint Barton flicked his eyes up towards his cell door as the barred gate at the end of the corridor slammed open. The sound echoed around the small, cramped room, but Clint paid it little attention. He just hugged his legs tighter to his chest, the chains around his wrists and ankles clinking softly. Deep in his gut, instinct was urging him to get up, to fight, to not let these bastards take him down so easy. But he couldn’t.

The sedatives they kept injecting into him were drowning out his instinct to survive, muddying his head until he couldn’t focus. His arm was bruised and bloody from each twist and struggle Clint made every time his prison guards tried to pump him full of those damn drugs. He never won, but he fought every time anyway. Not even his father or Trickshot had beaten that will to survive out of him.

Clint hadn’t done much more than stagger between the small toilet and his narrow cot in days. Every time he stood, the room swam in and out of focus until it was all Clint could do to keep his legs from buckling. Fingers of ice spread out from Clint’s chest, hollowing out his bones until there was nothing left. Clint had been cold for so long that he couldn’t remember what it was like to be warm. He’d been brainwashed, taken over by a force he could barely comprehend, and now he was locked up like a common criminal. Or maybe not so common, since he’d barely managed to escape his cell the first time he’d tried.

When he’d first woken up, dazed from the drugs they’d pumped through him, he’d raged. Disoriented and scared, he’d  done everything but trash the furniture they’d bolted to the floor. He’d tried the same trick with the guards, too, but he’d just ended up sedated, unable to escape his nightmares, his mind haunted by Loki’s words.

_ Tell me, Agent Barton, do you crave orders? Would you kneel before me? _

It felt like months since Pegasus, since New York, which might have even been true. Or it could have been a few weeks. It wasn’t like the guards had given him a calendar. In the back of his mind, a voice was urging him not to give up, or give in. Once, that voice had sounded like Barney, telling Clint to be tough and strong, to not show any weakness. Now, it sounded just like Phil Coulson. Clint both hated and loved it. Phil had been so much to him -- handler, confidant, friend. Maybe one day Phil could have been even more, but that was before he’d died. Before Loki had  _ killed _ him in the attack Clint had led on the Helicarrier. And as much as Phil would kick his ass for believing it was his fault, Clint couldn’t stop the guilt. If he hadn’t given Loki the opportunity, Loki wouldn’t have been able to hurt Phil. No matter what sins the WSC kept shoving in his face, that was the one Clint regretted most.

_ Whose orders do you follow, Agent Barton? _

The lock on the door clicked loudly. Clint waited for the door to open, not even curious about which one of his many interrogators it would be this time. The WSC goons were all the same -- they wanted details on SHIELD missions, on Nick Fury and on Natasha. So far, Clint hadn’t said a single word. He had no idea what had happened to Natasha past the glimpse he’d caught of her five weeks ago. Or why Nick hadn’t come for them. He had no idea what kind of game the WSC was playing, but Clint would be damned before he betrayed the people he trusted. Again, anyway.

The World Security Council was too high and mighty to dirty its hands with real torture, and a few questions yelled in his face were hardly enough to disturb him. His old man had done worse. Hell, not even the sleep and food deprivation had managed to chip through the numb walls surrounding Clint. Yet another thing he could blame on Loki’s lingering influence. Besides, when it came right down to it, nobody could do  _ anything _ to hurt Clint worse than what he'd already suffered. He’d been taken, his mind fucked with by a psychopath masquerading as a god. Every time he closed his eyes, that haunting blue seeped out from the edges of his vision, even when he was awake. He’d fought against Loki, but it hadn’t changed anything in the end. It hadn’t made Phil Coulson’s death any less real. It hadn’t changed the way Clint had allowed it to happen.

_ What is the exact nature of your relationship with Agent Coulson? _

The door creaked open and Clint blinked several times, half-convinced he was hallucinating. “Nat?” he rasped.

Natasha Romanoff sent him a wan smile, leaning partially against the door frame. “ _ Hello, little hawk _ ,” she greeted him in Russian. Her eyes flicked over Clint, searching for injuries, which was only fair. Clint was doing the same to her.

There was a pallor to Natasha’s skin, red rings around her wrists and a heavy weight of grief in her eyes. The same grief that echoed deep within Clint’s chest. She was clad in a mismatched version of the guards’ uniform, which was a hell of a lot better than the rough prison jumpsuit Clint wore. The dark clothes hung a little loose on her small frame, and she’d twisted her distinctive hair under a black ball cap. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but the surveillance cameras everywhere were hard to escape. Clint was kind of surprised the alarm hadn’t sounded already.

Clint’s eyes stung and it took him a minute to untangle his limbs enough to stand. His head spun sickeningly, and Clint had to brace a hand against the wall until his vision cleared.  _ Fuck _ , he hated sedatives. His guards barely fed him anymore because he couldn’t keep food down, and the combination had sapped the strength from his limbs.

“Clint? Are you okay?” Natasha asked.

“Sedatives,” Clint told her. “They were trying to keep me  _ obedient _ .”

Natasha must have caught the bitterness in his voice, because she frowned slightly, her eyes reflecting her worry. Clint waved away her reply, because now was not the time or the place to deal with his eroding mental state. He’d hold it together until they got out. It wasn’t like he had a choice. “Please tell me you have a way out of here?” he asked.

“You know I do,” Natasha replied in a low voice. She pushed herself off the door frame and wavered slightly. It wasn’t much, but for the Black Widow it was a neon sign.

Clint smiled sardonically. “You too, huh?” he said.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a small smile. “It’s like they thought I’d escape or something,” she said.  She stepped forward, her movements slow and controlled. Wordlessly, Natasha set to work on his cuffs and a heavy, coiling tension dropped from Clint’s shoulders as the chains fell away. He rubbed the abraded skin gently as Natasha freed his ankles.

“Thanks,” Clint said hoarsely as she rose back to her feet.

Natasha gave him a curt nod. “You are not an animal to be kept chained in a cage,” she growled.

The agonizing warmth that spun out from Clint’s chest was hard to describe. Even if the WSC locked him up for the rest of his life, he would  _ never _ regret saving Natasha. He’d made his choice in a split second in the freezing snow, and Clint would always be grateful he had. “Neither are you,” he said.

Natasha’s mouth twitched, as if she’d tried to smile but couldn’t. “And we will not let them cage us again,” she replied. “Now, come on. We don’t have much time until they notice we’re missing,” she said. Yet, instead of pulling Clint towards the door, she leaned in to rest against his chest for a minute. Clint’s free hand immediately came up to pull her into a tight hug. Natasha let out a shuddering breath, her hands fisting in the rough fabric of Clint’s jumpsuit.

_ Tell me what you know of Agent Romanoff. What does she fear? _

“Okay,” Natasha said, pulling back. “The EMP I set off isn’t going to keep the cameras offline for much longer.”

Clint blinked, a ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You made an EMP?”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Why do you think it took me so long to come for you? I passed you that message weeks ago.”

The message had been barely more than a few hand signals disguised as a twitch that said ‘ _ hold tight I’m coming _ ’ in the twenty seconds they’d been allowed a glimpse of each other, but years of working together had deepened a bond between them the WSC couldn’t hope to crack. Natasha’s eyes had locked with his, hard and determined, just like the first time Natasha had ever promised she was coming for him. And she had.

She grimaced. “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Clint squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden burn of tears. “Clint.” Natasha’s hand was cool when it curled around his. Clint blinked open his eyes. “I have something to counteract the sedatives.”

Clint nodded. Right now, he’d do anything to get rid of the nauseating lurching in his head. Pulling a syringe from her pocket, Natasha pulled off the plastic cap and tapped the side, making sure there were no air bubbles. She then carefully helped Clint peel off half the jumpsuit to reveal the white t-shirt beneath. The shirt was a lot looser than it had been a few weeks ago. The sharp sting of the needle brought him back to the present, and Clint gasped as his heart started pounding.

“Jesus, Nat, what did you do? Give me a shot of adrenaline?” he said.

Natasha shrugged. “No. It’s a mix of amphetamines and a couple of other things.”

Well, the comedown from that was going to be fun. When Natasha handed him a pile of clothes, Clint changed as quickly as he could. The clothes weren’t his, but the familiar feel of cargo pants and boots was more welcome than Clint wanted to admit. He added the handgun that Natasha passed him to the holster on his left thigh and sheathed a matte black knife in his belt.

Once he was done, he nodded again to Natasha. She’d been his partner long enough that she didn’t need words. Nodding back, Natasha moved out into the corridor, scouting ahead. As he followed, Clint tried to empty his mind of everything he didn’t need for the escape. Whatever drug Natasha had dosed him with was finally letting his thoughts wake up, but now was not the time to indulge.

_ Do you really think those mortals at SHIELD will come for you, Agent Barton? _

At the end of the corridor, Natasha paused, pressing her back to the wall. Clint wordlessly copied her, ready for whatever the guards would throw at them. It was a hell of a lot better than rotting away in his cell. A short hand signal from Natasha told him the way was clear. Clint followed her around the corner, and smirked coldly at the two unconscious bodies in their underwear lying on the concrete.

Clint still had no idea where they were, but he trusted in his own skills, and he trusted Natasha. Anything else they could make up as they went along. “So, do you have any idea where we are?” Clint whispered.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Somewhere inside the US,” she said. “I think.”

It made sense. The WSC had a lot of control within the US. Funding sources and several favourable Senators to cover things up. It was also less difficult to transport them somewhere inside the US from where he and Natasha had been grabbed in New York. Less time for them to escape. Sucking in a deep breath, Clint held it for a beat before he let it go. Then he asked the question he really wanted to. “And SHIELD?” he asked. “They finally have a ‘jet waiting for us somewhere?”

Even if Clint hadn’t counted Nick Fury as a personal friend, there was  _ no way _ Nick would have just left them here. If it had just been Clint, he might have considered it, but Natasha was like a daughter to Nick. She also hadn’t helped destroy Nick’s shiny new Helicarrier.

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice was quiet, but Clint still heard the note of worry underneath.

“They haven’t sent anyone, have they?” Clint said flatly, burying the stab of agony that echoed through his chest.

Natasha stepped forward and grabbed Clint’s chin with her hand. “Don’t do that,” she warned. “He would have come for us if he could have. You  _ know _ that.”

Clint swallowed and nodded. He did. The fact Nick hadn’t swooped in to rescue them yet could only mean bad things.

_ I will destroy SHIELD before I am done, Agent Barton, and you will help me. _

“We need to keep moving,” Natasha said, stepping back.

Clint reached out to grab her arm to stop her. “Wait,” he said. “Nat… I need…” He clenched his jaw. Natasha wasn’t going to like what he had to say next, but he had to say it. “On the way to my debrief, Nick gave me Coulson’s dog tags. He said… He wanted to speak to me… after. I’m not leaving them here, Nat.  _ Please _ .”

Natasha’s eyes were bright with tears, but she just nodded. “There’s a security office at the end of the cellblock,” she said. “The elevators need coded access, so I’ll need to breach the system to get them moving. I’ll see if there’s any record of personal effects in the computer system.”

“Thank you,” Clint replied roughly.

“Let’s go,” Natasha said.

<*>

The small security center was exactly where Natasha said it was. Clint left her to deal with the computers to search for an alternate way into the elevator shaft. Opening the elevator doors, even using one of the guard’s key cards, would no doubt trigger an alert somewhere. Besides, Clint wasn't riding up in an elevator just to be shot as soon as the doors opened. The climb up the shaft itself would be grueling, particularly in their weakened states, but it was their only option. Besides, if they were as far underground as Clint suspected, then the elevator shaft would be how the facility was getting air. The vents should lead straight to the surface.

Moving as fast as he dared, Clint gathered any useful gear he could find from the nearby empty rooms. He even managed to grab another gun, but it wasn’t his bow, and his hand ached for the familiarity of his own weapon. His skin was itching, pulling tight over his bones and Clint needed to  _ move move move _ .

“I found out where we are,” Natasha said, appearing by his side.

“Oh?” Clint asked, passing her half the gear as he began strapping on the rest.

“Alaska,” Natasha said shortly. “About twenty miles northwest of the Special Operations Group training site. That’s how they can bring in supplies and personnel without anyone noticing.”

Clint frowned. That was going to be a problem. There was a lot of cold, isolated ground to cover between here and the nearest road out. Natasha nudged him gently. “They've stashed our personal effects near everything else. We can grab some more supplies at the same time.” She forced a smile, and Clint appreciated the effort. “If we can get out of the detention level without getting trapped in the trash compactor.”

“Dork,” Clint said softly, Natasha’s attempt at humour a warm spark in his chest.

Natasha glanced up at the ceiling and the vent cover Clint had already slid to the side. “The vents? Really?” she said flatly.

“Easiest way into the elevator shaft,” Clint told her.

Huffing softly, Natasha nodded. “Okay. Boost me up.”

Clint took a few steps back and held out his hands. Just like he’d done a thousand times on missions, or in the gym, or that one memorable time in Fury’s office. Natasha darted forward, her foot hitting Clint’s hand just as he pushed upwards, vaulting her easily up to the vent opening. Something familiar and welcome solidified in Clint’s gut. No matter what he’d been through, his muscles remembered their training, and how to adjust for Natasha’s lighter weight and send her springing upwards. As soon as Natasha was securely in the vents, she swung around and held out both hands for Clint. With his own run up, Clint used the wall to jump up and grab Natasha’s hands, letting himself be pulled into the vent.

From there, it was a less than graceful wiggle down the cramped ventilation shaft. Clint could barely move his shoulders, and by the time he’d gone about three feet, he’d cut his left wrist on something and banged his head twice. Grunting as he inched forward, Clint spared a moment to be envious of the way Natasha was able to slide her smaller frame quickly along ahead of him. When they finally reached the elevator shaft, Clint breathed a silent sigh of relief. Natasha efficiently slid open the grate and then disappeared into the darkness. A cold blast of air brushed past Clint’s face before he flipped his body out of the ventilation behind Natasha.

Natasha cracked a couple of the glowsticks she’d snagged. The eerie green light illuminated the concrete and thick, insulated wiring. Just like every other elevator shaft Clint had ever had to climb out of. Natasha hooked one of the sticks to her belt before passing a second to Clint. Then, she turned and pulled herself up onto the ledge above where the ventilation grate had opened.

Grimacing at the pull of his muscles, Clint followed, keeping his back pressed to the wall of the shaft. Above him, there were two tiny circles of light from the vents that let in air cold enough to make Clint shiver. In the back of his mind, Clint hoped no one called the elevator, because that would be  _ bad _ . They’d have to climb fast.

“We need to get to the floor just below the entrance level,” Natasha said from the corner where she was getting ready to climb. “That’s where they keep their gear and supplies. And where you’ll find…” She trailed off, but Clint wasn’t going to force her to say the words.

“Yeah. Okay.” Clint swallowed. “Thanks.”

Natasha nodded before she braced her foot and pushed up. Hesitating, Clint followed her progress, because Natasha was graceful and beautiful even when she was exhausted. Not that she’d admit how she’d flexed her hand and braced herself for the climb. Once he started his own path upwards, Clint’s focus narrowed down to keeping himself moving and his breathing steady. It wasn’t fluid or even close to the parkour style he and Natasha had developed, but it was fast. Which was good, because halfway up the shaft, the shrill, sharp alarms started screaming.

“I guess they noticed we’re gone,” he muttered.

“ _ Hurry, little hawk _ ,” Natasha called out in Russian, and Clint grit his teeth, climbing faster.

<*>

By the time they made it to the level just beneath the surface, Clint’s body ached and he trembled with the effort it had taken to get this far. The months of imprisonment had taken their toll. He’d lost more than strength, and his body didn't respond the way it used to. It was like he was back on the streets, exhaustion weighing him down and hunger constantly gnawing at his belly.

The facility had been deep underground, and the guards were well-trained, but it was hardly the Fridge. Clint had busted out of worse. Although, that was probably why their WSC overseers had been so quick to sedate him and Natasha. Clint was just grateful it had been chemical rather than some kind of mutant with telepathic abilities. Not that the WSC thought much of mutants, either.

His body throbbed, old injuries from the battle against Loki still healing, even after so long. His captors had barely fed him, let alone given him proper medical treatment, so it was hardly surprising. Clint just hated that his body wasn’t following his commands. He hated feeling so weak.

Scouting out the corridor ahead, Clint dropped out of the ventilation, landing on silent feet. Natasha followed silently behind him, before flashing Clint a sharp series of hand signals.  _ Going left. Finding gear. Meet outside in twenty minutes. _

Clint signed his agreement back, and headed down the corridor to the right. He had no idea what he was looking for, but Natasha had said the guards had stashed their stuff on this floor. He wasn’t leaving until he had Phil’s dogtags. No matter what. They were all he had left of Phil, apart from the fracturing memories in his mind.

The corridor was better lit than the vents, but the alarm was still blaring and Clint wasn’t slowing down for anyone. He ran down the corridor, sweeping each room with his sharp gaze for a sign of anything useful. Three doors down from where he’d started, Clint found a room filled with a row of small metal boxes. It reminded Clint of bank deposit boxes, and he could only hope this was what he was looking for. It took thirty seconds to force open the lock, because Clint was going for speed, not finesse. He didn’t care if anyone noticed he’d been there.

Despite that, when he caught the thump of booted footsteps over the blaring alarm, he ducked into the room and crouched down out of sight. His heart tripping in his chest, Clint tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife. If the guards found him, Clint had enough weapons to fight, but the longer he stayed under the radar, the better the chance they had of getting away. Three guards jogged past the room. From the rifles in their hands, Clint guessed they were ex-military at least. He didn’t let out a breath until the tread of boots disappeared around a corner.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Clint crossed to the wall of boxes and scanned the identifying numbers. Finding the right box, Clint jammed it open with his knife, revealing the contents. He automatically grabbed the gun and knives inside, his fingers stumbling only slightly as he secreted them away. Swallowing, Clint stared at the remaining large, yellow envelope. He didn’t have time to hesitate, but he couldn’t stop the hitch to his breathing as he reached out. Slicing open the bag with one of his knives, Clint told himself to stop dawdling like a rookie. He was better than that.

_ If I asked you to kill them, Agent Barton, would you? _

He grabbed his wallet, already stripped of cash, for all the good it did him. For a heartbeat, he was tempted to leave his SHIELD badge behind, but being a SHIELD agent was one of the few things he was proud of. And then, there they were in the corner of the envelope. What he’d come all this way to find.

His hand closed around the dogtags, his thumb moving to trace over the raised lettering:  _ Coulson, Phillip J _ . Grief rose up like a tidal wave, squeezing his lungs and almost choking him. Clint sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes shut, as he fought to get himself back under control. Now was so not the time for Clint’s shit to screw everything up.

_ Did Agent Coulson ever ask you to kill? _

Slipping the tags over his head, Clint tucked them under his clothes, so the cool metal could rest against his skin. Somehow, the familiar touch of the tags had a tiny corner of Clint’s chest loosening. It was mostly his mind playing tricks on him, but Clint could almost pretend a small part of Coulson was still with him. Still watching over and protecting him from harm. Even if it wasn’t true, it made the bands squeezing Clint's chest a little looser.

Switching his attention back to the rest of the boxes, Clint found the one holding Natasha’s things and jammed it open. He pocketed her SHIELD badge in case she wanted it, and grabbed the throwing knives at the bottom of the box. Aside from that, all Natasha had been carrying was strawberry lip gloss and a pack of gum. Clint closed his eyes. She’d probably been planning to watch over Clint for his entire debrief. Fuck, he was lucky to have her.

Shoving the lip gloss and gum into his pocket too, Clint shut the drawer and turned to leave. Unfortunately, just as he slipped out of the room, two guards rounded the corner. Both men’s eyes widened and Clint’s breath hitched. Adrenaline flooded through Clint’s body and he surged forwards, because he only had about ten seconds before someone aimed a gun at him.

Straightening to his full height, Clint grabbed the first guard’s wrist and pivoted sharply on his heel. When Clint’s back was towards the guard, he elbowed the man in the solar plexus. The guard let out a gust of air as Clint’s elbow connected and his grip on his gun loosened for a second. Yanking ruthlessly, Clint twisted the guard’s hand and wrenched the gun from his hand. It clattered to the floor and Clint kicked it out of reach, even as his other hand came up to grab the guard by the back of the neck and slam his head into the wall. With a grunt, the guard crumpled to the ground.

The second guard hadn’t been able to get a clear shot, but as Clint turned, he caught Clint straight in the mouth with a large fist. The metallic tang of blood filled Clint’s mouth as he reeled back, his fingers automatically reaching for his knife. Twisting to the right, Clint moved to the side and lashed out with his blade. The guard went down with a sickening gurgle, clutching at his throat. There was a thud of footsteps behind him, but Clint was already moving when the sharp retort of a gun echoed loudly. A split second later, burning agony tore its way across his right thigh. Clint’s leg buckled, and he spit out a stream of curses for not checking to make sure the first guard was unconscious. Reaching for a second knife, Clint threw it with perfect aim before the man could get off a second shot.

Clint grunted, using the wall to keep himself upright. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Wiping the blood from his lip, Clint bent to retrieve his knives before taking a look at the graze on his thigh. It hurt like fuck, but it wouldn’t need more than a few stitches. With the trek out ahead of him, he couldn’t afford injuries. He’d only slow Natasha down if he did. Since the fight was likely to draw other guards in his direction, Clint gritted his teeth and kept moving. Hopefully Natasha would have found a first aid kit and he could bandage up his leg later.

Right now, though, he had places to be.

<*>

Thankfully, Clint avoided any more guards as he slipped outside and found a hiding place behind what appeared to be a small storage building. Blood was still seeping into the material of his stolen pants, the bullet graze a dull roar in the back of his mind. Clint ignored the pain, because it was nothing like the agony that had taken root underneath his ribs after he’d heard Coulson was dead.

_ Who do you love, Agent Barton? _

Around him, guards were shouting orders and setting up search patterns, because Clint and Natasha hadn’t exactly been subtle about kicking down doors. Every instinct Clint had was screaming at him to get up, to move. If he didn’t, they’d catch him and throw him back into the hole Natasha had just busted him out of. Icy rain was beginning to fall as the day dimmed into night. Clint sucked in a breath, and stretched out his hand just beyond the tiny scrap of roof he was sheltering under. It was nice to feel the rain on his skin. He hadn’t been outside in months. If squeezed his eyes tight enough, he could almost pretend he was back in New Mexico, Thor try to regain his hammer and Coulson standing beside him, ignoring the rain soaking through his tailored suit.

“Clint.”

Natasha’s voice was soft, and her cold hands were gentle. Clint blinked open his eyes. Natasha stared back, her sharp eyes watching him. “We need to keep moving.”

Clint nodded. He wasn’t giving up. He’d just needed to rest for a minute. Gripping the gun tighter in his left hand, Clint hauled himself to his feet. In his head, Loki’s words blurred together, endlessly echoing around and around. Clint tried to shove them away, to focus on protecting Natasha’s back, but the words refused to quiet. Clint gripped his right thigh  _ hard _ , using the flare of pain from his bullet wound to shake off his daze.

While the world around them was getting dimmer, there was still a hell of a lot of open ground between their hiding place and the nearest trees. “Do you think they’ll find us before nightfall?” he asked.

“Probably,” Natasha replied. “But don’t worry. I rigged a distraction.”

She tossed Clint a bundle. “Put that on,” she commanded.

Clint shook out a thick, waterproof parka. Combined with the clothes he was already wearing, the parka would help keep the worst of the cold out as the temperature dropped. Pulling it on as fast as he could, Clint grabbed the pack and then the rifle Natasha handed him. “We need to head east,” she said. “There’s an airstrip about twenty five miles away. The WSC goons are going to guess that’s where we’re headed, but I’m not sure we have any other choice.”

Clint frowned at her. “How do you know there’s an airstrip there?” he asked.

Natasha smirked. “Why do you think I spent so long getting into their computer systems? I didn’t need that long to plant a few surprises.” Her smirk faded. “It’s the closest airstrip. I thought you’d prefer getting out of here to a more subtle approach.”

Nodding, Clint let out a breath. “Yeah,” he agreed. “How do we get out of here?”

Natasha nodded to a jeep parked a few feet away. “I might have sabotaged their transport while you were busy,” she said. “Besides, there’s a storm on the way in. We need to move fast if we’re going to put some distance between us and these morons before it hits.”

“Good plan,” Clint replied.

As if to punctuate Natasha’s words, the facility was rocked by a loud explosion. The men who had been searching for them broke off into a cacophony of shouts, thankfully heading away from where Clint and Natasha were hiding. Natasha rolled to her feet, scanning the growing evening, her weapons held at the ready, but the distraction appeared to be working.

“Nice,” Clint complimented.

Natasha spared him a dry glance as she gathered up the last of their supplies. “Come on, we have about two minutes before anyone gets curious,” she said.

Shouldering her pack, Natasha wedged her free shoulder under Clint’s arm and helped him to his feet. Clint bit back a few curses as the wound in his leg twinged with pain, but he still mustered the energy to shoot her a dark glare. “I’m not an invalid,” he muttered.

“Okay.” Natasha let him go, eyeing him for a moment as if to make sure he could stand on his own. “You good?”

Clint closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Opening them again, he gave Natasha a curt nod. “Yeah. Let’s move.”

<*>


	3. Maria

_ The Triskelion, Washington DC _

Maria Hill looked up as her administrative assistant walked into her large, glass-walled office. His face was pale, and the hand not holding her large coffee was fidgeting with the material of his suit pants. Maria sighed. That probably meant they had a bigger problem than the break-room running out of non-dairy creamer again. Leaning back in her chair, she raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong, Agent Chan?” she asked.

Chan swallowed. When he set the coffee down on Maria’s desk, the spoon clattered loudly against the saucer. “Director Hand wants to see you immediately, ma’am,” he said.

Gritting her teeth, Maria bit back her response. It would never cease sounding wrong for anyone other than Nick Fury referred to as SHIELD’s Director. It had taken  _ years _ for Fury to win Maria’s absolute trust and loyalty. Maria wasn’t so petty as to hold Victoria Hand responsible for what had happened, but Hand would always be too concerned with rules and protocol for Maria. Despite his flaws, Fury would do whatever the situation called for to protect those who needed it, and would damn the rules where necessary. Hand had yet to prove that she would do the same.

Standing, Maria smoothed down her skirt. In deference to being stationed at the  _ Triskelion _ rather than overseeing Helicarrier repairs, Maria was dressed more like a senior manager than a field agent. Part of her would always long for her more practical tac suit (and her ability to wear a thigh holster), even if she had to admit the shopping trips with Pepper Potts had been fun. Reaching for her coffee, she downed it in one go and gave the empty cup to the now wide-eyed Agent Chan.

“Tell the Director I’m on my way,” she ordered, reaching for her secure SHIELD tablet. “And hold my calls until I get back. If Agent Bradbury comes looking for me, remind him that our meeting is at 1600 hours.”

Sweeping out of her office, Maria headed down the corridor towards what had once been the domain of Director Fury. Around her, the floor-to-ceiling windows showed a wide view of the Potomac River. Maria let her eyes drift over the scenery, and took a deep, slow breath. No matter her personal feelings, her first duty was to SHIELD and those they protected. Nodding to Hand’s assistant, Maria fixed a bland mask on her face and knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?” she said as she entered.

Victoria Hand raised her eyes from the electronic files she was reading. Reaching out, she pressed a hidden button, and the holographic display vanished. Her sharp gaze studied Maria, evaluating her from head to toe. For anyone else, it might have been intimidating, but Maria had been subject to Hawkeye’s intense stare more times than she could count. “I did, Agent Hill,” Hand said levelly. “Please shut the door and sit down.”

As Maria did what she was told, she ran through the list of SHIELD operations she was overseeing. None of them were important enough for a trip to the Director’s office. Maria glanced up when Hand tapped another series of buttons, changing the files on the screen in the corner of the office. Swallowing down the jarring  _ wrongness _ at not having Fury silhouetted against the windows as they debated strategy, Maria studied the faces now on the screen. Tony Stark was immediately recognizable, but Maria couldn’t identify the brunette woman, or the two other men.

“What do you know about Advanced Idea Mechanics, Agent Hill?” Hand asked.

Maria glanced back at Hand. “It’s a privately funded scientific research and development think tank,” she said. “I wasn’t aware Tony Stark was involved, ma’am.”

Maria wasn’t naive. SHIELD had probably had a file on Tony Stark since he was born, but Maria hadn’t been personally involved. At least not until now.

“Stark was approached by AIM’s CEO Aldrich Killian, New Year’s Eve, 1999, where we believe Stark blew him off in characteristic style,” Hand replied. “Normally, this wouldn’t have been of concern, but last week, AIM was contracted by the US government to assist with the rebranding of the superhero known as War Machine.”

Arching an eyebrow, Maria bit back a snort. “Can you rebrand a superhero?” she asked dryly.

“It seems you can.” Hand’s expression didn’t give much away, but Maria doubted she was impressed.  “It’s mostly a political exercise, but I’m concerned about a private company having access to one of Tony Stark’s suits. Not to mention that if I had to make a choice, I would prefer to deal with Colonel Rhodes in a crisis.”

Maria nodded, because she’d dealt with Colonel Rhodes in the past, and she liked Rhodes’ calm practicality and dry sense of humour.

“I want you to work with Agent Blake to find out everything you can on AIM,” Hand continued. “He’s been dealing with anything associated with Tony Stark.”

Rumour had it that Agent Blake was also tracking agents loyal to Fury on behalf of both Director Hand and the WSC, but Maria was well aware most of that could just be speculation. Still, she needed to be on her guard. She nodded to Hand, because she wasn’t stupid enough to think she had a choice in working with Agent Blake. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

Instead of dismissing her as expected, Hand let out a breath. “I also want you in on a meeting this afternoon,” she said, her dark eyes holding a wariness Maria had not expected. “Pierce wants to discuss Project Insight. I understand Fury had some reservations about the project, and I share them.”

For a minute, Maria debated saying anything other than “yes, ma’am”. Fury would hate her wasting an opportunity, but it was more than that. Despite what half of SHIELD thought, she was not Nick Fury’s mindless drone. Her instincts were telling her this was the right play, too. “If I may, Director,” she said. “I have a suggestion.”

Hand nodded for Maria to go ahead.

“Read Captain Rogers in on the project,” Maria said. “He may be a national icon, but he’s also a soldier. One who’s seen firsthand what war can do, and if Project Insight has problems, he’ll see them.”

Hand considered that for a moment. “I don’t share Fury’s belief in costumed superheroes, but I’ve had my own meetings with Captain Rogers,” she said. “He’s a good man, if young. I’ll consider your suggestion, Agent Hill.”

Maria smiled tightly. “Is there anything else, ma’am?” Maria was a professional and would do her job, but that didn’t mean she had to like the little reminders of the power difference between them now.

“Not for now, Agent Hill,” Hand replied.

Maria rose smoothly to her feet, and she was halfway to the door before Hand’s voice stopped her again. “Can I trust you, Agent Hill?” Hand called out.

Maria stiffened as she turned. “My loyalty to SHIELD has never wavered,” she snapped.

Hand sat back in her chair, and for a second, a faint smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I know,” she agreed. “But that wasn’t the loyalty I was referring to.” Her face hardened again and she returned to her files. “Dismissed.”

Maria gritted her teeth and left.

<*>

About an hour later, Maria knocked sharply on Blake’s door. When Blake looked up in irritation, Maria arched an eyebrow. “We have a meeting to discuss AIM,” she said crisply.

Blake frowned. “I was just about to go and get a cup of coffee, actually,” he said.

With a lifetime of experience, Maria arranged her face in a mask of cool expectation. She’d found a long time ago that it was easier to deal with people if she just ordered them to jump instead of worrying about anyone’s feelings. It didn’t help that she’d never liked Blake, and since his promotion to senior agent, he’d been unbearable. Walking over, she placed her SHIELD-tab on the desk and took a seat in Blake’s visitor’s chair. “I’ll wait,” she said.

His scowl deepening, Blake secured the files he’d been reading before stalking out of the office. Maria took a deep breath and slowly let it out as her heartbeat jolted. She wouldn’t have long before Blake returned, but Maria wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. Breaking through Blake’s password on his computer took about twenty seconds -- for an intelligence agent, he wasn’t very creative. Several surveillance reports were already open, one each on Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Maria frowned, because it was undeniable that Hand had ordered SHIELD to keep a close eye on the Avengers after New York. Maria still wasn’t sure what she felt about that.

Ignoring the surveillance reports, Maria quickly searched for any files Blake had recently started compiling. Since Blake didn’t work with assets, Maria’s blood ran cold when three files appeared tagged with the names of several agents she called friends. Hastily, she copied them over to a secure corner of the SHIELD server. She didn’t have time for anything else. Then she forced herself to take a deep breath and erase any trace of what she’d just done, before carefully standing and walking back around to the other side of the desk. She was calmly sitting there, going over files on her SHIELD-tab, when Blake walked back in.

“I assume Director Hand assigned you to this?” Blake said as he sat down.

“Of course,” Maria replied, holding back a scowl. If Blake was insinuating --

“Relax,” Blake said, and if Maria was anyone else he might have rolled his eyes. “I’m not impugning your honour. I’m actually one of the people who wouldn’t mind seeing you as Director one day soon. I’m just trying to figure out how much of this mess I can give you.”

Maria blinked. She might have misjudged Blake. Despite his reputation for being hard to get on with, that was more than his usual bluntness. “I appreciate the honesty,” she said.

Blake smiled wryly, and drank his coffee. “You’re not the only one who thought what the World Security Council did to Fury wasn’t right,” he said. “I might not have agreed with all his methods, but Fury’s not a traitor.” Sighing, he turned to his desk. “Although, none of that’s going to help us with AIM.”

Maria nodded, shoving aside the problems with Fury and the WSC. “What have you managed to find?”

“Not much,” Blake said. “I’ll send you all the files I have, but on the surface, AIM appears to be everything it says it is.”

Maria arched an eyebrow. “But you think there’s something suspicious going on?” she asked.

Blake nodded. “I do, but I can’t put my finger on what,” he replied. “I’m still tracking the funding source through shell corporations, but it seems more complicated than the usual corporate tax avoidance.”

Taking a deep breath, Maria sat back in her chair. “Which presents us with a problem, considering they’ve just been awarded the contract to rebrand War Machine,” she said. “What do we know about Killian?”

“Ivy League education, including a doctorate in biochemistry. Diagnosed with a number of physical disabilities as a child, all of which disappeared about the same time he came into his wealth,” Blake told her. “Aside from persistently trying to get an appointment with Pepper Potts over the last month, he seems clean, if obnoxious.”

Maria nodded. “Following the money appears to be our best bet,” she agreed. “Keep working on that. I’ll see what I can pull up on AIM’s current research, and schedule a lunch meeting with Colonel Rhodes to at least warn him of our suspicions.” She rose smoothly to her feet. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blake said dryly.

<*>

Later that afternoon, Maria was finally able to tear herself away from her desk. She made sure her assistant saw her leave, and carefully timed a moment of fussing with her hair just as the elevator doors were closing. It was all part of an intricately cultivated illusion, and Maria had been practicing the steps for weeks. To anyone watching her, Maria was on her way to yet another long lunch that happened to take her to an out-of-the-way hotel. The pattern wouldn’t be hard to spot if someone was paying attention, but that was the point of the cover. Give anyone watching a reason for Maria’s secretive behaviour -- such as having an affair with a subordinate -- and no one would go searching for the  _ real _ reason she was hiding what she was up to.

Clandestine meetings were just so exhausting.

Part of Maria missed her days as a full-time field agent when she’d met her contacts in back alleys and dingy motels. She usually left the serious undercover work to agents like Natasha, who had much more patience for it. Of course, Natasha wasn’t here, which was part of the problem in the first place.

Maria ignored the pang of worry, and pasted what she hoped was a happy smile on her face as she stepped inside the hotel lobby. Scanning the light crowd, she didn’t have to fight the way her smile turned genuine when she found Jasper Sitwell already waiting. Even so, the back of her neck prickled, because they weren’t exactly making it hard for someone to find them, which was the point, but it didn’t make it any easier for Maria’s instincts.

“You know, just once, you could actually look  _ happy _ to see me,” Jasper grumbled playfully after Maria crossed the lobby to greet him.

Maria huffed. “If you wanted a brilliant actress, we should have gotten Morse to do this part,” she grumbled quietly.

Turning towards the front desk, Maria let Jasper guide her with a hand on the small of her back, her gaze moving over the lobby again. It wasn’t that she doubted Jasper’s ability to scout the exits and make sure there were no bugs pointed at them, it was just habit. She frowned. One of the bellhops was new. As if guessing where Maria’s attention was focused, Jasper leaned in. “After we go up to the room, you can order the linguini. It’s delicious and will make you feel better,” he murmured. “And in the meantime, we can take bets on how long it’s going to take that bellhop to start speaking into his sleeve.”

Maria smiled. If nothing else, this cover meant she got to eat at some of the best Jasper-rated places in DC, even if some of them had to be hotels, now that their cover relationship had become ‘intimate’. “After the day I’m having, I might need to share a piece of cake as well,” she said.

Jasper’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Is this junior agents kind of bad, or bad news kind of bad?” he asked in a low voice.

Shaking her head minutely, Maria hesitated, because in the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t sure what she had to say actually ranked as bad news. It wasn’t quite on the scale of Nick Fury being wanted by the WSC or Hawkeye and the Black Widow being taken into custody and disappearing. “I’ll explain later,” she said.

“Okay,” Jasper agreed. Stepping up to the front desk, he turned his winning smile on the woman waiting to greet them. “Hi. I, ah, booked a room yesterday?” As he spoke, Jasper shifted restlessly, a faint blush darkening his cheeks. Maria was impressed -- the sharp-eyed analyst and field agent was suddenly buried under an adorably bashful smile. Jasper really was better at this than she was. 

“Of course, sir,” the receptionist said, her gaze flicking to Maria. “What name would that be under?”

“Ah, Roger Stevens,” Jasper said, the faint blush still staining his cheeks.

Maria gave him a sidelong look, because really, that alias wasn’t even trying anymore. Ignoring the receptionist’s carefully hidden judgement, Maria eyed the bellhop, who was now repacking the same four suitcases onto his trolley. If that had been one of Maria’s agents, he would have found himself booted back to the Academy.

“Come on,” Jasper said in a low voice, putting a hand on her elbow. “You can complain about the shitty surveillance upstairs.”

“They’re not even trying,” Maria grumbled. “It’s an insult to the profession.”

Jasper didn’t say anything else on the way to the elevator, but Maria did catch him biting the corner of his mouth. Maria huffed, and waited in silence until they reached their room, mostly because she hated making inane small talk. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Maria slipped off her heels as Jasper swept the room for bugs.

“All clear,” he said.

“Good,” Maria replied with feeling. “Although I can’t say I have much appreciation for the skills of the people watching us. The only way it would be more embarrassing was if they actually  _ did _ start talking into their sleeves.” She hung her jacket over a chair, and headed over to the bed, where she piled the pillows against the headboard. If she and Jasper were going to spend the next hour trading information, she was going to be comfortable. “I think I need about a gallon of coffee.”

Jasper raised his eyebrows. “I could order room service now?”

Maria sighed, settling herself on the bed. “No, you’d better not,” she said. “If that bellhop is downstairs to watch us, we’d better keep in cover. I’m not sure the WSC will buy our relationship if they find out it’s really based on a shared love of food and aggressive cuddling.”

Jasper laughed. Shrugging off his jacket, he loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes. Rolling up his sleeves, he sat down on the end of the bed and wiggled his toes in his socks. “Okay,” he said. “Do you want to start by telling me your bad news, or should I tell you mine?”

Studying Jasper, Maria took in the faint lines around his mouth and the shadows under his eyes. “I’d better go first,” she said. “Your news looks worse.”

Jasper smiled wryly. “Wonderful,” he said.

Maria blew out a sigh, resisting the urge to rub her hand over her face and ruin all her carefully applied makeup. “I had a meeting with Blake earlier today,” she said. “Director Hand has us looking into AIM because of the contract to rebrand War Machine. I’m not sure that has anything to do with what the WSC is up to, but while I was in Blake’s office, I managed to get access to his computer. The rumours are right. He  _ is _ looking into agents loyal to Fury.” She grimaced. “I only saw three surveillance reports. On Bobbi, Garrett -- and you.”

Jasper frowned. “Should I be worried?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Maria told him. She gestured towards her jacket. “I have a copy on a drive for you, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing in the report we weren’t prepared for SHIELD -- and the WSC -- to find out.”

Nodding, Jasper smiled tiredly. “Well, at least that’s something.”

“What about your bad news?” Maria asked.

Jasper took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “I think this ring of moles we’re looking for is a lot bigger than we feared,” he said grimly. “Fury was right. I know you hoped he was being overly paranoid, but this group is  _ organized _ , Maria.”

Maria swallowed, her blood running cold. “So there’s someone operating an agency  _ inside _ SHIELD?”

“Yeah,” Jasper said, his dark eyes reflecting the fear and anger swirling through Maria. “I don’t know how big it is, or who’s in charge, but I think I  _ do _ have a way inside. I might have to go radio silent for a week or two, but I think I can put myself on the recruitment list.”

Letting out a slow breath, Maria studied Jasper. Jasper stared back, his jaw firm and his eyes never blinking. “Okay,” she said. Technically, as Jasper’s handler, it was her decision, but she trusted Jasper’s instincts. “Just promise me you’ll get out if things start going wrong. I’m not sure how fast I can get you back-up, and I don’t want you to get hurt, Jas.”

Jasper’s eyes softened. “I promise,” he said.

“Good,” Maria replied. “I’m not breaking in a new sarcastic best friend.”

Grinning, Jasper reached out to poke her in the calf. “Why don’t you take a nap before you pull something showing all this emotion? We’ve got a while before we can order room service, anyway.”

“You are such an asshole,” Maria muttered, poking back with her toe as Jasper sprawled out along the foot of the bed. “And what do you mean  _ a while _ ? Can’t we just order in twenty minutes?”

“Fuck you,” Jasper grumbled. “I’m not having that bellhop report back to the WSC that I haven’t got any stamina.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she snuggled down into the pillows. She made sure to set the alarm on her phone for forty minutes just in case. “Take a nap, Jas,” she told him.

“Shut up. You totally know that if you swung the other way and I wasn’t in love with someone else, I’d rock your world,” Jasper said, already half asleep.

“You’d ruin me for any other,” Maria agreed in a flat tone.

Jasper muttered something in reply, but Maria ignored it. Instead, she settled down for her own rest.

Something told her she was going to need it.

<*>

_ Maria’s Apartment, Washington DC _

It was late by the time Maria dragged herself back to her DC apartment. She’d sent a coded message to Fury on the way back from the hotel and her meeting with Jasper, because Fury needed to know what was going on. Things were escalating, and Maria would be damned before she let whatever this was catch her by surprise.

The prickle between her shoulder blades as she crossed the street warned Maria she was being watched. Her left hand reached into her pocket for her phone and the emergency button, while her right twitched for her gun. “Isn’t it a little melodramatic to be lurking in the shadows?” she called out.

“Sorry,” Sharon Carter said, stepping into the light spilling out from the building’s lobby. “One of your neighbours went out for late-night groceries, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate the lurking being so obvious.”

Sharon was dressed simply in jeans and a leather jacket, her blonde hair curling loosely around her face, but Maria still had to swallow as her mouth went a little dry. Maria had always been impressed by Sharon, ever since they’d first met, but she’d never managed to lose the way her stomach fluttered every time Sharon walked into a room. Clearing her throat, Maria let out a breath. “You want to come up?” she offered. “I could do with a glass of wine.”

Sharon blinked. “Thanks,” she said.

It was hardly protocol in these types of situations, but Maria doubted Sharon would have let anyone follow her. Besides, out of everyone Fury could have sent, truthfully, Maria hadn’t expected Sharon. Mostly because Sharon was supposed to be undercover, keeping watch over Captain Rogers in case the WSC tried anything. Of course, that wasn’t the official reason -- there were other factors at play, and Secretary Pierce had taken a personal interest in Rogers. Maria wasn’t worrying about it too much. If something needed her attention, she trusted Sharon to warn her.

Nodding to the night security guard, Maria headed straight for the elevator. It was Henri’s turn to watch the desk tonight, and he gave her a wink when she glanced in his direction, his dark skin creasing into weathered laugh lines as he smiled. Maria winked back. She’d given up trying to convince Henri most of the people she led up to her apartment at odd hours were there on business a long time ago. He remained stubbornly convinced Maria had a long string of lovers. Although, it had been amusing to watch Henri attempt to give Phil wooing advice the few times he’d come over to talk mission planning.

A sharp pain cut through Maria’s chest at the thought. Phil had been --  _ was _ \-- a good friend. He had a talent for finding the best coffee within walking distance of wherever they were stationed, and he’d always helped when she’d had to deal with Fury at his most stubborn. Even though she was one of the few Fury had confessed to what he’d done in bringing Phil back, Maria still hadn’t seen Phil with her own eyes. Sometimes it was hard not to doubt Phil was alive.

“Are you alright?” Sharon asked quietly as the elevator doors shut and Maria jabbed the button for her floor.

“Sorry,” Maria replied, blinking away her morbid thoughts. “I, uh, was just thinking of old friends.”

Sharon nodded, a bittersweet smile curving her mouth. “Coulson,” she guessed.

Maria nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Sharon said, her blue eyes filled with a kind sort of sadness. “I didn’t know him that well, but he was a good man, and a good SHIELD agent.”

The air caught in Maria's throat, and she had to glance away. Sharon didn’t know. Fury hadn’t told her. Something twisted in Maria’s chest, and anger began simmering in the pit of her stomach. Even ignoring the fact that Sharon’s great aunt was  _ Peggy Carter _ , one of the founders of SHIELD, Sharon was fierce, brave and loyal. She could be trusted with a secret like Coulson’s resurrection, but the elevator was hardly the place for that kind of confession. It would have to wait until they were behind closed doors and Maria was sure no one was listening.

Sharon cleared her throat. She was too good an agent to betray her awkwardness, but her shoulders were tense. “Were you and Coulson… close?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened before Maria worked out what Sharon had meant. When Maria did, she snorted. “God, no,” she said stepping out of the elevator. Sharon followed. “We’re just friends.”

Sharon blinked and frowned, but Maria shook her head once. Walking down the corridor to her apartment, Maria made short work of the security on her door. Then, motioning for Sharon to stay quiet for a moment longer, she drew her gun and checked her apartment -- including checking for any bugs, just in case one of the morons keeping an eye on her for the WSC had gotten lucky.

“Sorry,” Maria said, holstering her gun as she walked back to where Sharon was still waiting in the entrance hall. She quirked an eyebrow at the gun in Sharon’s hand. “We’re clear. There’s no one listening.”

Sharon smiled, putting away her own gun. Maria slipped off her coat, gratefully kicking off her heels at the same time, and using her stockinged foot to push them against the wall. She’d deal with them later. “Did you want that glass of wine?” Maria offered as she headed for the kitchen.

“Actually, that would be great,” Sharon said with a sigh.

Maria nodded, heading to the fridge. She pulled out the bottle of white, eyeing the takeout containers for something to eat. Maybe there was some spicy chicken left, but she doubted it. From memory, all she had left was the dubious broccoli thing that she hadn’t even liked when it was fresh. Shaking her head, she shut the fridge and grabbed two wine glasses from the cupboard. When she glanced up, Sharon had taken off her leather jacket and was perched on one of the barstools, her elbows leaning on the kitchen counter.

Maria set the glasses down and poured two large helpings. “For the record,” she said, not willing to examine  _ why _ it was so important she told Sharon this.  Maria’s carefully hidden attraction to Sharon definitely didn’t come into it.  “I don’t exactly broadcast it around SHIELD, but I’m a lesbian.”

Sharon’s hand, which had been reaching for a wine glass, faltered slightly. “Okay,” she said, and flashed Maria a smile. “That was blunt.”

Maria nodded. It was one of the few things her reputation ever got right about her. She hated dancing around things. Maria picked up her own glass of wine. “I’m a blunt kind of person,” she said.

Sharon’s smile grew, then dimmed a little. “So the rumours about you and Agent Sitwell…?”

“Are the result of a cover to give the WSC -- and anyone else who might be watching -- a reason for our sneaking around,” Maria told her. She gestured to the lounge with her wine glass. “The couch would probably be more comfortable for this.”

Walking over to the couch, Maria sat down and tucked her feet up underneath her. “So how’s Captain Rogers?” she asked.

“Settling in, I think,”  Sharon said, settling down into one of the armchairs so she could face Maria. “He’s on a mission with STRIKE at the moment, and I think that helps. Rogers seems to react better when he’s busy. It’s why I’m here -- I was free.”

Maria nodded. She’d heard similar reports from other agents at SHIELD, but it was a relief that Sharon agreed with them. She took a deep breath. “There’s something else you should know,” she said.

“Oh?” Sharon said carefully.

Maria sipped her wine, enjoying the sight of Sharon in her apartment, even if everything was about to go to hell. “Coulson’s alive,” she said quietly. “He didn’t… well, actually, he  _ did _ die, but Fury brought him back.”

Sharon blinked, her eyes widening. “Holy shit,” she muttered, before draining half her glass of wine. Then her gaze narrowed. “I’m assuming Fury didn’t authorize you to tell me that.”

“No, he didn’t,” Maria agreed.

“So why did you?” Sharon asked, and Maria had a glimpse of why Sharon was so formidable in the field.

Maria let out a sigh and sipped her wine. “Because I trust you,” she said. “And because I have the feeling that I’m going to need people I can trust soon, and I didn’t want having kept a secret as big as that to get in the way.”

Sharon smiled. “That’s very practical.”

Maria shrugged. “You don’t get to be Deputy Director of SHIELD any other way,” she said wryly. She’d sacrificed a lot of things to get where she was, and an actual romantic life was one of them.

“So what’s your message for Fury?” Sharon asked.

A chill washed over Maria. She’d been relaxing into their conversation, pretending Sharon was there for another reason than to play discreet messenger between herself and Fury.

“No, actually, on second thought, you can tell me over dinner,” Sharon said.

Maria raised her eyebrows. “Dinner?” she echoed.

“Yeah, dinner,” Sharon agreed, her brown eyes amused and the hint of a smile curving her lips. She rose gracefully to her feet. “There has to be  _ something _ in this apartment that I can cook.” She headed towards the fridge, Maria staring after her in bemusement. “Besides, when was the last time you ate?”

Maria still wasn’t sure what to make of Sharon’s offer, but she wasn’t about to refuse. “I’ll have you know I ate an excellent linguine for lunch,” she said.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sharon arched an eyebrow. “Jasper?”

“Who else?” Maria replied dryly.

Sharon smiled again. “Good. I’m glad there’s someone else out there making sure you eat actual food,” she said.

As Sharon began pulling eggs and the few remaining vegetables out of the fridge, Maria got up to sit in the same barstool Sharon had taken earlier. “I know it’s been awhile since we talked,” Sharon added, glancing at Maria again, and her smile was somewhat shaky around the edges. “But you can tell me about your day, if you want. Not just the parts you want me to tell Fury.” She set the vegetables down and went hunting for a knife. “I’m only making omelettes. It’s the best I can do with the very sad contents of your kitchen.”

Something warm unfurled in Maria’s chest, spreading out to her fingers. She found it very hard to resist smiling back at Sharon’s mischievous smirk. “Hey,” Maria protested. “My kitchen isn’t that bad.”

Sharon arched a pointed eyebrow, and Maria chuckled. “Okay, so maybe it is,” she conceded. As Sharon diced an onion, Maria let the warmth flow over her and let out a breath. “And actually, telling someone about my day might be nice. I’m not used to that.”

Sharon smiled. “I’m listening.”

Swallowing another smile, Maria did, because this was a rare moment of warmth and peace that she was going to hold close when things inevitably went bad. Her instincts were warning her there was a storm on the horizon, and when it hit, she was going to need all the good memories she had.

<*>


	4. Phil

_ Providence Base, Canada _

Phil jerked awake with a muffled cry, the icy phantom of Loki’s scepter sliding through his chest. He choked in the darkness, gasping for air and resisted the urge to claw at his skin. It wouldn’t make any difference.

_ Stay awake. Eyes on me. _

Sagging back onto the mattress, Phil sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It was hardly the first time that he’d woken up in a cold sweat since he’d found himself miraculously alive, Nick’s words echoing in his ears. He barely managed to sleep for more than a few hours anymore. At least reliving the burning chill and agony of the scepter wasn’t as bad as his dreams of Clint. Those had Phil waking up with bile rising in his throat and blinking away images of Clint’s expressionless blue eyes staring back at him.

Phil was no stranger to nightmares, not after his time both in the Rangers and at SHIELD. Yet, somehow, dying had made them worse. Or maybe Loki had. Phil hadn’t been there when Clint had been taken, but he had seen the video footage of what had happened. He’d gone to his death with the clawing, raw knowledge that Clint might be gone forever. That no one would be able to save him. Phil might have woken up three months later, but that hadn’t changed. Clint was still lost.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Phil sighed. He might as well just get up. He wasn’t going to sleep again for a while. Pulling on his clothes, Phil debated whether to head for the kitchen and coffee. The cargos and hoodie were hardly his usual tailored suit, but they were better than sweatpants. Probably. It had always been good enough for Clint, anyway, when he wasn’t wearing his tac suit. Phil couldn’t count the times Clint had appeared in his office doorway with a hesitant smile, tugging on the sleeve of his favourite hoodie. A sharp stab of pain pierced Phil’s heart, and for once it had nothing to do with the memory of Loki’s scepter.

He was going to find Clint. He  _ had _ to.

Just as the urge for caffeine won out, Phil’s Starktab beeped with a message. Phil picked it up and tapped the screen, blinking at the email icon. He hadn’t expected a reply from the conspiracy website he’d found, but the response was staring at him in black and white. Clearly, he’d found the right group of conspiracy theorist hackers.

Since he’d woken up, Phil had been gathering as much information as he could. After he’d exhausted everything he could internet search, he’d started reaching out for help. Phil was willing to do whatever it took to find Clint and Natasha. Not that he had much else to do except being stuck alone with his own thoughts. Nick wanted to give Phil time to finish healing, but it was time they couldn’t afford to spare.

As Phil read the email, his eyebrows rose. Whoever this Skye was, they were willing to help Phil track down classified information. In fact, they were almost eager. Phil hadn’t told them any details about  _ why _ he wanted the supply manifests, but they seemed smart enough to read between the lines. It could have been a trap, of course, but if so, it was a very elaborate one.

Deciding to risk it, because he’d do a lot worse to get Clint back, Phil typed out a quick reply accepting the help. If this Skye was fishing for Phil’s intel, they’d end up disappointed, because Phil’s didn’t have much.  Phil didn’t care about the risk to himself, not as long as it helped him find Clint and Natasha.

A second later, a tap at the door startled Phil out of his thoughts. He jerked, spinning, as his heart gave a sickening lurch. The door hadn’t been at his back, but it had been close enough. Phil fought against the ghost of agony flaring through his chest. The sensation wasn’t real. Just like the fear, it was all in his mind. Since he’d woken up, his physical condition had improved faster than Phil thought possible, but his brain was still struggling to keep up. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Phil shoved his emotions back in their box. He didn’t have time for this.

“Easy, Phil.” Nick’s voice was steady, coming from just in front of Phil.

When he opened his eyes, Nick was standing a few steps away, his hands clearly visible. “We’re going to have to work on your situational awareness,” Nick said dryly.

Swallowing, Phil huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We are.”

Nick held out another Starktab, still eyeing Phil carefully. “There’s some updated information on here that Melinda didn’t have,” he said. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Phil said quietly. He took the second Starktab gratefully. There was still so much  he had to catch up on. Suddenly exhausted, he sagged down to sit on the bed.

Nick joined him, sitting down in the old chair to his left.  Phil eyed him and arched an eyebrow. “You’ll probably be more comfortable on the bed,” he said, shifting over. “That chair looks worse than the ones in your office.”

Nick huffed, but he was fighting a small smile. “Screw you, Cheese,” he said. “Those chairs were insanely comfortable. You sat in them often enough.”

Phil smiled faintly back. Despite everything, it was a relief to still be able to joke with Nick. Nick was less drawn, too, as if he’d finally gotten a decent night’s sleep.

“So…” Phil said in the following silence. When Nick cocked his head, Phil nodded towards the Starktab. “What are you trying to soften me up for?”

Nick regarded him for a moment. “I’m not trying to soften you up for anything,” he said. “But there is something we haven’t talked about.”

Phil braced himself, trying to stop his brain from leaping to conclusions, each more horrifying than the last. “Oh?”

Nick nodded gravely. “Audrey.”

His heart clenching, Phil shut his eyes as a picture of Audrey’s smile swam through his thoughts. It was immediately followed by a rush of guilt, because Phil had been awake for almost a week now and he hadn’t even asked about her. “What about Audrey?” he said, opening his eyes.

“She thinks you’re dead, Phil,” Nick said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Phil winced, his guilt returning ten-fold at the thought of putting Audrey through all that pain. “No, I get it,” he replied. “The idea of my miraculous resurrection is hard enough for even a SHIELD agent to understand, and we’re trained for this.” Phil had turned Audrey’s life upside-down enough when they’d met. He didn’t want to do it again.

“We can find a way to tell her,” Nick said. He smiled wryly. “You can even blame it on your evil boss. Tell her I made you keep it classified or something.”

Phil shot him a dry look. “I’m not doing that, Nick.”

Nick’s gaze turned sad. “Phil…”

“Did you know that Audrey always knew about my feelings for Clint?” Phil interrupted. “She had me all figured out. Part of me will always love her, and we were happy, but she knew there was a piece of me that would always belong to someone else. A bigger piece than I ever thought.” He smiled, but it was bittersweet. “I never really understood how she could accept that so easily.”

Nick nodded. “She’s an amazing woman,” he agreed.

Phil blew out a sigh. “She also deserves more than a man with a head full of secrets that’ll turn your hair white.”

Leaning forwards, Nick braced his elbows on his knees and fixed Phil with a sharp glare. “You’re a good man, Phil, and Audrey would be one of the first people to say so.”

Phil closed his eyes again, the guilt and a deep, painful longing rising up to drown him. “I know we don’t live the kind of lives that end in a picket fence and a dog. We both gave up on that a long time ago. But Audrey… Audrey made it so easy to pretend I could have normal. If only for a little while.”

When he opened his eyes again, Nick flashed him a sardonic smile. “I get that,” he said. “You know I do.”

Phil nodded. He’d been Nick’s best friend since before either of them had heard of SHIELD. He’d also been there the first time Nick Fury and Melinda May had crossed paths. If anyone would be familiar with wanting what he couldn’t have, it was Nick. “How is it that we can both dismantle international terrorist organisations and field strip an M4 rifle, but anything to do with romance ties us up in knots?” Phil asked.

“Because we’re both emotionally repressed assholes?” Nick offered.

Phil snorted. “Probably.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t decide how much of a bastard it makes me that I didn’t think of Audrey at all on the Helicarrier. When I was… dying.” He caught Nick’s flinch at the word and the white-knuckled grip Nick had on the chair. “She wasn’t my first thought when I woke up, either.”

“Phil, you’d just been stabbed through the chest. You were allowed to be thinking of other things,” Nick said quietly, his gaze still heavy with grief.

“That’s not the point,” Phil grumbled in frustration. “I didn’t think about Audrey, but I  _ did _ think about Clint. About how everything would be worth it if you got him back. About how I would have loved to have seen him smile one more time.” Phil sucked in a shaky breath, the raw pain swirling underneath his ribs again. “That’s not fair to Audrey. I think it’s time I let her go. She deserves better.”

And she really did. Clint Barton had been part of Phil’s life for so long that Phil couldn’t really remember what it was like not to have the smartass archer in it. Like Nick, Clint had become one of the pillars Phil leaned on when he needed it. Their friendship had grown from saving each other’s lives and keeping each other’s secrets. Phil would forever be grateful for that, but it wasn’t just friendship Phil felt for Clint. It was so much more. The more Phil had discovered about Clint, the harder he’d fallen.

Clint was amazing. He had a deep capacity for compassion despite all the horrible betrayals of his life, and his skill with a bow was breathtaking. His eyes were always so full of mischief and determination and inherent stubbornness. The first time Clint had smiled, really smiled, it had lit up his face and Phil had been gone.

In another life, Phil might have gathered his courage and asked Clint out on a date. Unfortunately, in this one, Phil had been Clint’s handler for years. Maybe Phil had hidden behind SHIELD’s fraternization rules for too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice his feelings. He wouldn’t put Clint in that position, not after Clint had finally carved out a safe space for himself. Phil would rather have Clint’s friendship than push for more and lose everything. Maybe that was being unfair to Clint too, but the timing had never really been right. And now Phil had died, and Clint was in the hands of the WSC.

Phil shoved that thought aside, because at best, Natasha and Clint had been indefinitely incarcerated. The WSC may have been bureaucratic assholes, but at least they wouldn’t kill Natasha and Clint. At least, Phil hoped they hadn’t. Any other outcome was impossible to consider.

“Hell, maybe when this is all over, I’ll be selfish enough to actually say something,” Phil added.

“You should,” Nick said. “You deserve to be happy, Phil. And Clint deserves to know how you feel.”

Phil glanced at Nick, taking in Nick’s slumped shoulders and the bitter edge to Nick’s smile. “You deserve to be happy too, Nick,” he said. His thoughts drifted to Melinda, but Phil wasn’t going to push.

They sat in silence for a long time after that.

<*>

The next morning, Melinda woke Phil up just after dawn. True to her word, as soon as Phil had been capable of it, Melinda had been waking Phil up at five every morning to hit the mats. So far, it had been little more than a combination of yoga, tai chi and stretching, but his scar didn’t pull with pain anymore. He could even bend over and touch his toes without gasping. It wasn’t exactly PT in the strictest sense, but Phil had a feeling it would be worse than Basic back in the Army when Melinda really started in on him. The early morning training sessions also had the benefit of spreading the truth of Phil’s resurrection. Agents were always appearing in the old SSR base, but only those Nick trusted. Phil wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole cloak-and-dagger of it all, but he understood Nick’s reasons. No matter what the World Security Council claimed, Nick Fury would  _ always _ be loyal to the principles SHIELD was founded on.

“Come on, Phil. Get up,” Melinda commanded.

Grumbling under his breath, Phil climbed out of bed and threw on his sweats. Combing his fingers through his hair, he walked over to where Melinda was waiting for him. “I don't suppose you’re going to let me have coffee before we hit the mats?” he said.

Melinda eyed him. “No,” she replied. “But I might let you have some afterwards if you live.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Great.”

Melinda led him down the corridor to where they’d set up the makeshift gym. On the way, they passed the small kitchen and dining room where the other agents congregated. This time of the morning, it was mostly deserted, except for the two agents slumped over a table in the corner. Agent Antoine Triplett had half his face hidden by a large mug, and Phil almost smiled. Trip had never known it, but Phil -- and Nick -- had watched out for him over the years. Not because Trip’s grandfather had been a Howling Commando -- well, not  _ just _ because -- but because Trip had the potential to surpass that legacy. Nick had marked Trip for great things. Although, how that translated to being one of John Garrett’s two latest protégés, Phil still hadn’t figured out.

At least Garrett wasn’t awake. He kept insisting on making comments about Phil’s lack of suits. Before Nick had accepted the Directorship, he’d been Phil and Garrett’s SO, and Phil had spent years on the same strike team as John Garrett. For all his brash boasting and need to be the centre of attention, Garrett was a good agent. He was flashy where Phil was quiet, and deep down, Garrett had always made Phil miss the Rangers. In the Rangers, it had been him and Nick and the rest of their unit against the world. Until Strike Team Delta, nothing had come close to recreating that feeling.

“I thought I told you to get to bed?” Melinda called out.

Trip turned with a smile, flashing Melinda a salute with two fingers. “I’m on my way, Agent May,” he replied. Trip’s curious gaze flicked to Phil, making Phil very aware of his rumpled appearance. The tailored suits had become part of Phil’s armour, and without them, he felt even more naked than he had after his resurrection.

Melinda’s lips flattened. “You, too, Agent Simmons,” she added firmly.

The second agent jerked up at her name, from where she’d almost been asleep in her tea. This time, she wasn’t wearing a labcoat, but it was still the same young woman who’d stumbled across Phil in the corridor just after he’d woken up. Jemma turned wide eyes on Melinda and nodded. “Of course, Agent May,” she agreed earnestly. “I just wanted to…”

“No,” Melinda interrupted. “No more experiments. Sleep.”

“I’ll make sure she gets some sleep,” Trip said. He grinned at Melinda’s narrowed gaze. “That we  _ both _ get some sleep.”

Melinda nodded, but she didn’t stop, instead leveling a final glare at the two agents and walking on. Trip offered Phil a grin and another salute as Phil followed Melinda around the corner to the gym.

Thankfully, the gym itself was empty. Phil preferred it that way. Not because he was ashamed at his still healing body, exactly, but he did enjoy the quiet moments with Melinda. They’d been close, once. Before Bahrain, and Melinda’s decision to transfer to a desk job. Before her divorce. Phil was enjoying the chance to get to know Melinda all over again.

When Melinda gestured to the middle of the mats, Phil blinked, but joined her. Instead of launching into warm up stretches, Melinda sank down to sit cross-legged, still as graceful as she’d ever been. Phil sat down opposite her, wary. Something was up.

“We need to increase your training,” Melinda said without preamble. “But before we do, there’s a conversation we need to have.”

“Oh?” Phil asked mildly, trying to keep his body from tensing.

Melinda took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she looked him straight in the eye. “I left the field for a reason,” she said, her tone unnervingly even. “But with Fury trying to deal with the WSC, and the situation inside SHIELD, I might not get the luxury of staying out of the field for much longer.”

Phil nodded, mostly to show he’d heard. He couldn’t imagine what Melinda was facing, but he could see it wasn’t an easy choice. “What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve been keeping fit, but I’m hardly ready for combat,” Melinda continued bluntly, but her jaw tightened. “I’ll need to fix that. I…” She trailed off, which was unlike Melinda. Glancing down at her hands, she took another deep breath. “You were in Bahrain,” she said, meeting Phil’s gaze again. “And you saw what happened… afterwards. Would you trust me to have your back out there?”

“In a heartbeat,” Phil said without hesitation.

Melinda sent him a wry look. She might not appreciate Phil’s fast answer, but Phil didn’t have to think about it. “I mean it,” he insisted. “You’re right. I did see a little of what you went through after Bahrain. But, Melinda… None of that changes my opinion at all. Someone who was strong enough to survive what you did is without a doubt someone I would trust to have my back when I needed it.”

Melinda nodded once, but something deep in her dark eyes softened. “I’ll need help,” she said.

“I’ll do what I can,” Phil replied. He grimaced. “I’m not exactly in the best shape, either. Nick came up behind me yesterday, and I just about jumped out of my skin.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Melinda’s mouth. “We can work on that,” she said. “You might even regret agreeing to this before we're done.”

“I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it,” Phil said dryly as Melinda rose fluidly. He accepted her hand when she offered it, and Melinda tugged him to his feet.

“You don’t have to,” Melinda said.

“I do,” Phil replied firmly, clenching his jaw. “I’m no good to anyone right now. Especially not Clint and Natasha. I’m not giving up on them.” He shrugged, letting a trace of wry humour enter his voice. “Besides, WSC or not, the world still needs saving.”

Melinda snorted. “It’s moments like this when I remember you’re a Ranger.”

Phil gave a wry grimace. “I don’t feel much like a Ranger anymore,” he said. “Or a field agent.”

Melinda smirked. “You’ll remember,” she told him. Her amusement faded. “I don’t think being a field agent is something either of us will ever completely forget.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.

<*>

For the rest of the morning, Melinda put Phil -- and herself -- through one of the toughest workouts Phil had ever been through. She was ruthless. By the time she was satisfied, all of Phil’s weaknesses had been highlighted and catalogued. Despite his death and resurrection, his body was stronger than he’d expected, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed to be better -- faster, smarter -- if he was going to find Clint and Natasha.

“Stop thinking,” Melinda growled.

Phil grimaced, but Melinda had her eyes shut. She’d insisted on finishing their training session with tai chi and meditation, but Phil had never been good at emptying his mind. Most of the time his outward calm was just a mask. No matter how hard he tried, his brain always started working on the next problem, on making the next plan. It was especially true now.

“Phil,” Melinda said in warning, cracking open an eye. She sighed. “Go away.”

Phil nodded, taking the reprieve for what it was, and left Melinda to her silence. Instead, he retreated to his room, but he couldn’t sit still. Skye still hadn’t replied to his latest email, and he was starting to go a little stir crazy at the forced inactivity.

“Are you going to pace all day?”

Frowning, Phil turned to find Nick in the doorway to his room. He was less haggard every day, slowly losing his hollowed-out appearance, but it grated on Phil that Nick could leave and he couldn’t. “There’s not much else I’m allowed to do,” he grumbled.

“Phil.” Nick’s voice was soft, and for a minute that raw, heavy grief was back and shining in his dark gaze. “I know you’re impatient right now, but please. Give it time.”

Phil let out a loud sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t help but feeling time is one thing we don’t have, Nick.”

Nick smiled wryly. “We probably don’t,” he agreed. “But you  _ died _ …”

“Nick,” Phil interrupted.

“No,” Nick shot back fiercely. “This wasn’t being dead for eight seconds on the operating table, Phil. You were dead for  _ days _ . And I almost didn’t get you back  _ at all _ . So when I tell you to sit your ass down, you  _ sit your ass down _ . Got it?”

Mutely, Phil nodded. He carefully shuffled back to his bed and sat down. “Sorry.”

Nick walked over to sit beside him. “I can’t do this without you, Phil,” he said quietly. “You’re one of the only people I really trust. Don’t make me do this alone because you’re being stupid again.”

“Yeah,” Phil said shakily. “Okay.”

“There’s a storm coming, Phil.” Nick’s voice was low and rough, and for a second, defeat flickered through his gaze. “There’s a pit of dread curled tight in my stomach telling me that whatever it is, this is going to hurt. This might be the hit we don’t get up from.”

Phil let out a breath. “That bad, huh?” he said, attempting and not quite reaching his usual dry tone.

Nick turned to glance at him. “Might be time to find ourselves some new names. And maybe a nice tropical beach to live out the rest of our days,” he said, his mouth curling up in the attempt at a smile.

Phil raised an eyebrow. Nick had been suggesting some version of the same ever since they were Rangers, and neither of them had ever gone through with it. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither of us are,” he replied. He shifted so he could look Nick straight in the eye. “We’re not built to run and hide, Nick. We never have been. If a storm is coming, we’ll meet it head on, like we always have.” He smiled, and this time, he didn’t have to force it onto his face. “I’ve stuck with you this long, Nick. I’m not going anywhere.”

Letting out a breath, Nick nodded, his shoulders slumping forwards like Phil’s words had lifted a weight from them. “I guess after Panama, I shouldn’t doubt that,” he said.

“No,” Phil said. “You shouldn’t.”

Nick smiled. Closing his eye, he tilted his head back a little and let out another sigh. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Phil.”

Phil swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. “Yeah. Me too.”

His spine slumping, Nick sighed. “You know I’m doing everything I can to look for Barton and Natasha, right?” he said. “I’m not going to leave them in the WSC’s hands.”

Phil winced. He clearly hadn’t kept his growing frustration hidden. “I do know that,” he said softly. “But I made Clint and Natasha a promise a long time ago, when I started working with Strike Team Delta. I promised them that no matter who had them or where they were, I’d get them out.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I need to find them, Nick. I can’t just sit here anymore.”

“Please,” Nick said. “Just a little while longer.  Just until I have something a little more concrete.”

Frustration and guilt rose up to lodge in Phil’s throat, but he swallowed it down. “How much longer?” he said.

“Just…” Nick sighed, looking over at Phil. “You can’t stage a rescue mission if you don’t know where you’re going, Phil.”

Phil rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know,” he said. It didn’t help with his growing sense of urgency, but Nick was only pointing out the truth.

“Get some rest, Phil,” Nick told him, clapping a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Stop pushing yourself so hard. We’ll find them.”

Swallowing, Phil nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Squeezing his shoulder, Nick pushed himself wearily back to his feet. “We’ll fix this, Phil,” he said, but it sounded more like Nick was trying to convince himself of that.

Phil rose to stand beside his best friend. “Yes, Nick,” he said, looking Nick right in the face and letting his sheer determination shine through. “We  _ will _ .”

<*>

After Nick left, Phil found himself gripped by the urge to  _ move _ . It was more than just the need to find Clint and Natasha -- Nick’s words had worried Phil. He longed for the resources he’d had at SHIELD, the ability to talk to Maria and Jasper. Instead, he was more or less on his own. He needed to work on finding a way to track where they were holding Natasha and Clint. To that end, Phil had sent out coded messages to a few contacts he hadn’t already tried, but he wasn’t holding much hope. His contacts probably wouldn’t have much when it came to the World Security Council.

Natasha and Clint could be anywhere in the world, but the biggest contributors to black budget operations were either the US or the UK. It was logical that the base Phil was searching for was in territory held by either country. If it was Phil, he wouldn’t have wanted to move assets of Clint and Natasha’s calibre very far. Somewhere in the US, or maybe Canada, was likely his best bet for finding them.

Thankfully, when Phil checked, he had an email from Skye. Opening it, he blinked at finding a list of instructions instead of a message. The instructions were a little convoluted, but soon enough, a little black window was popping up on the tablet screen. The green cursor reminded Phil of the 80s which probably just went to show that he was getting old.

_ Hello? _ he typed.

_ You know, people don’t really say hi when they contact me, _ came the reply.

Phil hesitated, trying to squash the urge to apologize.  _ Being polite never hurts _ , he typed back.

_ Your mother teach you that? _

Arching an eyebrow, Phil snorted. Manners were just another weapon in Agent Coulson’s arsenal. Anything to keep people off balance and guessing.

_ Hey, do me a favour and don’t turn out to be a crackpot, okay? _

Phil smiled. It was small, but it was his most innocent expression since he’d woken up. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d contacted ‘Skye’, but it had probably been something more paranoid.  _ I’ll do my best _ , he replied.

_ Good _ , came the green words.  _ I think we should meet. I found something when I went digging. You need to see it in person. I don’t trust giving it to you any other way. _

Phil swallowed, the air freezing in his lungs and his heart hammering against his ribs in a painful, pounding rhythm. Swallowing, Phil reminded the rational side of his brain that Skye hadn’t meant  _ Clint _ . It might be a dead end. His heart ignored him. Blinking, Phil glanced down to his tablet to find two new messages.

_ The internet is full of hackers, you know. _

_ Dude? _

_ Sorry, _ Phil typed, trying to get his reactions under control.  _ Where did you want to meet? _

It was a risk. Phil was well aware of that, and that didn’t include finding a way off the base without Nick catching on. Normally, Phil would have just told him, but he’d only been awake just over a week. That, plus only exchanging a handful of emails with Skye would set off all Nick’s paranoid worrying. Phil needed to do this. His gut was telling him it was  _ right _ . He just hoped it didn’t blow up in his face.

_ How soon can you get to New York? _

Rising his eyebrows, Phil hoped Skye had taken an educated guess, and not managed to connect Phil to SHIELD.  _ Two days _ , he said, doing the mental calculations. He could probably manage to figure out a way to sneak out of the base by tomorrow morning.

GPS coordinates scrolled across the screen.  _ Meet me there _ , said the words that followed.  _ They do great pancakes. _

For a moment, Phil missed Jasper with an overwhelming ache. If there was one person who would be willing to help Phil do something stupid and threaten his recovery, it would be Jasper.  _ How will I recognize you? _ he typed.

_ Sit at the back. I’ll find you. _

Phil swallowed down all the instincts telling him to never walk into a situation with an unknown enemy. He didn’t really get a chance to disagree anyway, because a second later the window dulled and froze. Phil barely had time to memorize the coordinates before it disappeared completely.

Phil let out a breath. For better or worse, he was going to New York.

<*>


	5. Clint

_ 20 miles from the WSC secret prison facility, Alaska _

Clint shuddered, his jaw clenched hard to stop his teeth from chattering. True to Natasha’s prediction, the storm had hit about an hour after they’d fled the WSC base. The tall, thick trees around them kept out the worst of the icy rain, but Clint was still soaked through, his skin almost numb. The mud and leaf litter was treacherous beneath his feet, and every few steps, his boot skidded or slipped. The bullet graze on his thigh ached, and he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Natasha for much longer. He needed a rest, but they couldn’t afford to take one. Not with the WSC goons likely to be searching for them.

Tripping over an exposed root, Clint bit his lip to stop a curse as his shoulder slammed into a thick tree trunk. He grabbed onto the rough bark as his injured leg threatened to buckle and send him sprawling.

“Clint,” Natasha said, appearing beside him.

Clint fought to keep his breathing slow and even, glancing over his shoulder at Natasha. Her skin was pale with the cold, her hair hanging in wet clumps around her face, and dark shadows under her eyes. If Clint ignored the gaping pain in his heart, it could almost be a SHIELD mission gone bad. 

Only, it wasn’t. Natasha watched him with grave eyes, unable to keep the worry off her face, the ever-present echo of grief deep in her gaze. For Clint, it was as bright as a neon sign, an unmissable clue that he couldn’t ignore the pain of reality.

“I’m okay,” he rasped, pushing himself away from the tree to prove his point. “We have to keep moving.”

Natasha pressed her lips together, but she didn’t voice her doubts. “We can rest a minute,” she said.

“Nat…” Clint began, but Natasha shook her head once.

“No,  _ little hawk _ ,” she told him. “You need to rest.”

Taking the hint, Clint sagged to the sodden ground. Leaning back against the trunk behind him, he tilted his face up into the rain and closed his eyes. For an eerie heartbeat, he was back in the WSC interrogation room, his chains clinking against the metal seat, and his interrogator pulling out Clint’s every sin to stare back at him from the metal table. Clint shook it off, rubbing a hand over his face, the prickle of the beard clinging to his cheeks and jaw rasping against his palm.

“You know that saying, Nat?” he whispered through his cracked lips, not sure he even wanted Natasha to hear. “That it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?”

Natasha took a step towards him. “You know that I do,” she replied softly.

Grief, raw and hungry, rose up in Clint’s chest, almost choking him. He wanted to scream and rage at the world. At the unfairness of getting a glimpse of a life where Clint could have what he wanted, only to have it torn away after all. “Well, it’s  _ bullshit _ ,” he hissed. “Love  _ hurts _ .”

“Are you telling me you regret loving Coulson?” Natasha asked, and something in her voice made Clint pay attention.

He forced himself to open his eyes. Natasha was crouched nearby, her eyes dark and wide in her pale face. She was holding herself still in a way she rarely did unless bullets were flying. Clint swallowed, because he was being unfair to Natasha. She might not have loved Phil like he did, but Phil had been as close a friend to her as Phil had to him. Carefully, he reached out a hand, and Natasha gripped it so tightly her knuckles went white.

“No,” Clint whispered raggedly, trying to ignore the tears stinging his eyes. “Loving Coulson made me a better person.” He tried to paste a familiar smirk on his face, but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t pull up enough of his barriers to pretend everything was fine. “I just… I miss him, Nat. I feel like it’s going to rip out my heart if we ever get back to New York and I see his empty office.”

Natasha surged in, her arms wrapping tightly around him. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice full of all the pain and grief she had tried so hard to keep buried. “I know.”

They stayed that way for a long moment, rain sliding down their skin. “Come on,” Natasha said finally. “We should keep going.”

Clint nodded. If they stayed still, they were dead. He wasn’t going back to the basement the WSC had thrown him in, and he wouldn’t let Natasha end up back there either. Keeping moving was their only option. At least the rifle slung over Clint’s back was a familiar weight. It wasn’t his bow, but it would do.

Besides, Coulson would want him to keep going, so that was what he was going to do.

He took a deep breath as Natasha climbed back to her feet, but when Clint glanced up, the air caught in his lungs. Phil Coulson stood in front of him, untouched by the rain, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at Clint.

Icy bands squeezed Clint’s heart. He could have stepped straight out of Clint’s memories, a tac vest over his white shirt and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Frozen, Clint stared up at him as Phil reached down a hand, as if to help Clint to his feet.

“Phil,” Clint gasped.

Tears blurred his vision, and when Clint shook his head to clear them, Phil was gone. Instead, it was Natasha standing over him, her hand outstretched. Clint wasn’t sure if the ache lancing through his chest was relief or the agonizing reminder that Phil was dead.

“Clint -- ” Natasha said.

“I’m fine,” Clint snapped. Guilt immediately rose up as Natasha flinched minutely, and he softened his tone. “I’ll be okay.”

Natasha helped him back to his feet, and he clenched his jaw and locked his knees so he didn’t stumble. Grimly, Clint started moving again, trying to push the pain in his leg and the shuddering, aching cold to the back of his mind. 

Natasha watched, her mouth set in grim lines. “We could look for another airstrip, but that will take time,” she said. “We might not -- ”

“ _ I _ might not, you mean,” Clint interrupted her. “I know I’m slowing you down, Nat.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, her hand snaking out to grab Clint by the chin, her fingers digging into his jaw. “You listen to me,  _ little hawk _ ,” she hissed sharply. “I am not leaving you behind. I will never leave you behind. I may sometimes trust you to get yourself out, but I will  _ always _ be waiting.”

Clint swallowed heavily, the gnawing mass of pain and love twisting in his chest. This wasn’t the first time Natasha had made that promise, but she meant it now as much as she had then. “Okay,” he whispered, dropping his head forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“Good,” Natasha replied, a faint tremor in her voice. She let go of Clint’s chin, sliding her hand down to rest over his heart for a second. “Now let’s go. We have an airstrip to find.”

<*>

Peering down at the airstrip below, Clint counted the goons holding automatic weapons with a resigned sort of acceptance. At least the sudden presence of armed guards patrolling the hangars explained why no one had caught up with them yet. 

The icy rain was still beating down on them, and Clint brushed away the drops sliding down his forehead. Natasha was beside him, her face grim, which told Clint more than enough about their chances. At least the storm was easing. That was about the only point they had working in their favour.

Wriggling backwards, Clint ignored the dull throbbing in his thigh and picked his way back to the trees, keeping low to the ground the whole time. Natasha joined him thirty seconds later. “Well?” he asked her, his lips twisting sardonically.

“I counted fifteen,” Natasha said quietly. “You?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “I couldn’t see any snipers.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, a glimmer of the Black Widow surfacing. “So we take out the guards and steal a plane,” she said. She glanced down at his leg. “You can stay up high and pick as many off as you can with the rifle.”

Clint didn’t like the idea of Natasha going down there without him, but he was hardly in the shape to do much to help. He’d be more effective as a sniper. “Okay,” he agreed. “But if I lose sight of you for more than a minute, I’m coming down there.”

“Two minutes,” Natasha countered. “I wasn’t planning on kicking down the front door. I’ll need time to get into position.”

Clint sucked in a shuddering breath. He didn’t like it, but the stubborn tilt to Natasha’s jaw suggested he didn’t have a choice. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered back. She brushed her fingers once over Clint’s cheek, and then she was gone, vanishing into the trees.

Normally, Clint would have a comm in his ear and he’d tease Natasha about not giving him any details of the plan, but nothing about this was normal. There was no Phil watching over them, no SHIELD team on standby if they needed back up. It was just Clint and Natasha on their own and the desperation that came from needing to escape the World Security Council. And when it came down to it, Clint  _ knew  _ Natasha. He didn’t need her to tell him what she was going to do.

Sneaking back up to the crest of the hill, Clint slung the rifle off his shoulder and lay down. Mud and cold immediately began sinking in through his pants, chilling his skin. At least his jacket protected his chest and stomach, helping Clint keep what little body heat he had left. Breathing out, his breath misting in the air, Clint ignored the tremors wracking his body. Out of the trees, the icy wind was cutting through his clothes like freezing blades. Clint had almost forgotten what it was like to hold a perch without SHIELD’s high tech gear, and a recent meal in his belly.

Almost.

Dawn had broken an hour ago, which might give them an advantage, but probably wouldn’t. Sighting down the rifle, Clint picked his targets and waited. He was back up for Natasha, a rhythm both familiar and well-practiced. It made it a little easier to push down the simmering anger in his stomach, to remind himself he didn’t have to kill. He could choose not to. Nick and Phil had shown him that. SHIELD had shown him that.

Breathing out again, Clint wrapped the calm of a sniper around himself. His finger rested on the guard near the trigger, and he stilled, waiting for his first glimpse of Natasha.

He didn’t have to wait long. Natasha appeared on the edge of the airfield a minute later, gun in her hand and sharp gaze on the guards. Clint took a deep breath and held it, finger now curled around the trigger.

There was a single moment of clear silence, and then Natasha burst into carefully controlled violence. The air was suddenly filled with shouts and the sharp sound of gunfire, even as Natasha knocked out one of the guards and ducked behind a hangar. Clint took out two more of the goon squad with non-lethal shots -- or at least as non-lethal as he was willing to be. The men guarding the airfield were the same men who’d locked Natasha and him up, and they weren’t firing to wound.

After the fourth shot, the guards started shouting and pointing in Clint’s direction. A second later, two bullets slammed into the trees behind Clint, branches splitting with the impacts. “Fuck,” Clint muttered.

There  _ was _ a damn sniper.

Grunting, Clint searched the trees around the airfield and the hangars for any sign of the sniper who had shot at him. Taking out another of the guards who was trying to sneak up on Natasha, Clint got ready to move, because he couldn’t stay where he was for much longer. Being a sniper was all about patience, camouflage and geometry, and that meant Clint could find the person shooting at him as easily as the sniper had found him.

Clint’s heart picked up speed, because the longer Clint searched, the longer Natasha had to fight the rest of the guards without backup. The anger Clint had been fighting back flared into life, flooding his veins like adrenaline. Natasha couldn’t last down there alone forever, even if she was the Black Widow. The shouts from the guards were getting louder, and when Clint risked a glance, Natasha was knocking out another of the guards with a metal pipe. Clint raised his eyebrows, because she hadn’t had the pipe two minutes ago.

There was a flash of light in the corner of Clint’s eye, and instinct kicked in. He rolled the side an instant before another bullet slammed into the ground where he’d been lying, sending up a flurry of leaf litter. Scrabbling backwards, Clint ran for the trees, ignoring the way his leg ached. He darted for cover, crouching low, and wound his way close to the airfield, even as a lull fell over the forest. Ten seconds later, there were another three sharp shots from the sniper, this time directed down at the airfield -- and Natasha.

“That,” Clint snarled. “Was a mistake.”

Propping himself up against a nearby tree, Clint scanned the trees as he triangulated the sniper’s position. All he needed was a small movement or the glint of light off a scope. The next muzzle flash was like painting a bullseye. A figure was laying across the fourth branch of a large pine, about a foot above the hangar. Breathing out, Clint aimed and squeezed the trigger. There was a blossom of red in his scope, and Clint lowered his rifle. Swallowing, he bit back the immediate surge of nausea.  _ No one _ messed with his partner.

Taking another deep breath, Clint scrambled for the airfield. He could find another perch, but that would take time now that the goons had his location. Instead, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and fingered the hilt of the knife in his belt. He let out a shaky breath, his body aching and the fatigue creeping across the edges of his mind. Not that Clint would let that stop him.

Keeping hidden as best as he could, Clint used the cover of the trees to sneak up to the edge of the airfield. Natasha was still fighting the WSC goons, a blur of violent fury. A guard was trying to sneak up on her, but Clint crept up behind the man and wrapped his arm around the man’s throat before he could. The guard clawed at Clint, struggling for breath, but Clint only tightened his grip until the guard sagged into unconsciousness. He let the weight of the guard’s body drop, shifting out the way and ready to draw his knife if he needed it.

A shout had him pivoting to the side, and Clint barely had a second to grab the guard’s gun and shove it away from him. The sound of gunfire up close was almost deafening, and the scent of cordite hung in the air. Clint drove his fist into the guard’s throat, and the man gasped as his grip on the gun loosened. Wrenching it from his hands, Clint used his momentum to yank the goon towards him and drive a knee into the man’s solar plexus. Then Clint slammed the guard’s assault rifle to his temple, and the man dropped like a stone.

Clint stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, his hands white-knuckled on the gun. He wanted to tear the remaining guards apart. He wanted vengeance, to give into the anger boiling under his skin, to prove to the world that he’d never be caged again. Closing his eyes, Clint swallowed the anger down, ruthlessly locking it away. Phil wouldn’t want him to give in and lose himself. Phil was… had been one of the few people who’d seen what it cost Clint to make those kill shots. He swallowed again. Besides, Nick Fury still believed in heroes, still believed Clint could  _ be _ one, and Clint wasn’t going to let him down.

Taking a step forward, Clint caught himself as his injured leg buckled, hissing at the stabbing flare of pain. The adrenaline was wearing off again, leaving him weak and shaking. “I’ve got you,” Natasha said, grabbing him by the elbow.

Giving her the ghost of a smile, Clint let her take some of his weight. Just for a minute.

“Are you going to be all right to fly the plane?” Natasha asked, her rough voice betraying her own exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Clint said with a nod. “I got this.”

Natasha led him towards one of the hangars, and Clint latched gratefully onto the task of getting the Piper PA-31 Navajo ready to fly out of there. While he did, Natasha secured the WSC goons, knocking out the few that were still conscious. Twenty minutes later, Clint was behind the controls of the plane, Natasha sitting beside him, and the runway was beckoning.

They were out of there.

<*>

_ Chicago, USA _

Landing outside of Chicago was easy. Once they’d gotten in the air, Clint hadn’t really cared where they went. Even so, he’d stuck to the main flight corridors so they didn’t call attention to themselves. Eventually, they’d decided on Chicago. It was close enough to New York if they needed to go looking for Fury, and Clint had gear and money stashed in the city.

There was also an old, abandoned airstrip to the west that SHIELD had once used. It was isolated enough that they landed without trouble, and he and Natasha had wiped down the plane and disappeared before anyone arrived to investigate. The fact that Phil had grown up outside of Chicago had only made Clint’s chest twinge once before he’d pushed it aside.

From the airfield, it wasn’t hard to steal a car, and head towards one of the old storage lockers Clint kept one of his stashes in. Money and guns were something both he and Natasha needed right now, but he doubted SHIELD or the WSC had found it yet. Clint had set it up years ago when he’d still been a mercenary, and he hadn’t used it since. He hadn’t needed to, until now.

It didn’t take long for him and Natasha to grab what they needed. There wasn’t much cash, but there were guns for Natasha and a set of knives and a back up bow for Clint. Clint also grabbed two forged passports, and the driver’s licenses and credit cards that went with them. If necessary, Clint could change one of the passports for Natasha, but she probably had her own stash somewhere. He grabbed a duffel full of clean clothes too, although he wasn’t sure they’d fit anymore.

After that, Natasha drove them to a dingy motel for the night where no one would ask them any questions. Clint was silent the whole way, trying hard not to give voice to the rage and grief still swirling around his mind.

“Clint…” Natasha started after she’d parked just outside their ground floor room.

“I saw a drug store down the block,” Clint said, interrupting her, not wanting to hear what she had to say. He didn’t deserve the comfort. “We’re probably going to need fresh bandages and shit.” He threw open the car door before Natasha could say anything, grabbing the motel key as he climbed out.

The car door slammed as Natasha followed, pausing only to open the trunk. Swallowing, Clint started hobbling towards the door to their room, the pain in his leg flaring bright after their long drive. Fuck, he was going to have to make sure it wasn’t infected.

He hesitated in the doorway after he opened the room, leaning heavily against the door frame. Closing his eyes, Clint waited for the fiery agony in his thigh to settle back into a more manageable ache. Nausea rolled through his stomach. Screw the asshole who had shot him, seriously. 

Blinking his eyes open again, Clint glanced over as Natasha slipped into the room. He caught the faint tremor in her hand as she flung her bag and jacket onto one of the chairs. It was probably only the mix of fear and adrenaline keeping her upright. The same mix was running through Clint’s blood, dulling the edge of pain from his bullet graze, and the lingering aches of his captivity.

“You want to grab the first shower?” Natasha asked as Clint eyed the decor.

The mustard yellow walls had probably been fashionable once, but a few decades had passed since then. The carpet was worn and thin, but clean, and an ancient TV sat in the corner. It reminded Clint of a mission in  Sao Paulo . He and Phil had been stuck in a tiny room with the same colour walls for six days and nothing to do before extraction. It should have been unbearable, and with anyone else it would have been. But Phil had made it work. Every time the inactivity started making Clint twitchy, Phil had pulled out a story from his time in the Rangers. Clint still couldn’t tell how many of them were made up. Or Phil had pulled out the old board they’d found under the bed, and they’d played chess, various bottle caps and pen lids as pieces.

_ Fuck _ .

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp stab of grief lancing through his chest. It still didn’t seem possible that Phil was gone.  _ Dead _ . Never coming back.

“Clint?” Natasha called out softly, and Clint blinked.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, his voice thick, stubbornly not looking at Natasha. He grabbed a change of clothes from his duffel, and headed for the bathroom. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Natasha had missed his sudden surge of grief, but he wasn’t sure he could handle any kind words.

For however long he’d been stuck in his WSC guarded prison, Clint had used his numbness and the way he was watched every second of every day to hold the worst of the grief at bay. He had tried so hard not to think about Phil, not willing to let the WSC have that piece of him after Loki had taken so much. But now that he was out of his cage and away from those eyes, it was all coming back. All the fear and guilt and sadness was rising up and crashing over him, mixing with the swirling rage of the unfairness of it all.

Clint barely managed to strip before the tears came. He staggered into the shower, stubbornly tilting his face into the spray. Shivering under the icy water until it warmed, Clint tried to focus on the sudden pins and needles, rather than the way he wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. He punched the wall once, cracking a tile and splitting a knuckle, before the grief swelled up. Sagging to the ground, Clint sucked in a shuddering breath and vainly tried to stop the tears pouring down his face.

He was vaguely aware of when Natasha came in, but he couldn’t stop the tears. When Clint finally lifted his face, she was sitting beside him, huddled close with her arms around Clint’s shoulders. Her face was wet, too, but Clint doubted that it was all from the shower. “Sorry,” he rasped, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t, Clint,” Natasha replied quietly, her breath hitching. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Clint leaned down to rest his head against Natasha’s. “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered.

“I can’t, either,” Natasha told him. “I learned a long time ago that all men are mortal, but there are some people who seem beyond that. Phil was one of them.”

When the water started turning cold again, Natasha pulled away. “Come on,” she said. “We both need a change of clothes, and then I’ll go find food.”

Clint nodded, suddenly longing for a greasy burger, or some sort of pie. He pushed himself shakily to his feet, only just managing to bite back a grimace. Clenching his jaw, he tried to keep the pain from his face as Natasha gave him a sharp look. She raised an eyebrow, because Natasha had always seen right through him.

“I should look at your leg, too,” Natasha said, turning off the shower and wrapping Clint in one of the towels. “Stay here. I saw a first aid kit in the trunk of the car. I’ll be right back.”

Clint nodded, because his leg was throbbing. The gash from the bullet had started bleeding sluggishly again, but the motel didn’t exactly come with medical supplies. Natasha grabbed the second towel and headed back out of the bathroom to change. His breath still uneven, Clint raked a hand through his hair. It was longer than it used to be, and suddenly Clint wanted it gone. A bright, burning ball of anger rose up, consuming him, and Clint had to grit his teeth so he didn’t smash his fist into the wall again.

Reaching up, he let his fingers brush Phil’s dogtags. He was still wearing them, and the metal was warm against his skin. Taking strength from the memory of the man they’d once belonged to, Clint staggered to the mirror and wiped away the lingering steam. Breathing out, Clint stared at his reflection, icy deja vu spearing through him. He swallowed heavily. The man staring back at him wasn’t Clint Barton, SHIELD agent. He was Hawkeye, the mercenary, bitter and jaded and full of anger.

Clint blinked and shook his head, but it wasn’t a hallucination. Reaching up, Clint scratched at the ragged beard on his jaw, and the man in the mirror did the same. Only, he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was older, his age visible in the lines around his eyes and mouth, and the eternity he’d weathered in his gaze.

“Shit, Phil,” Clint muttered, dropping his head as he braced his hands on the sink. “I could really use your help right now.”

Only, Phil was  _ dead _ . He wasn’t going to help Clint this time.

Snarling, Clint spun, wanting to smash something, wanting to break the world into pieces. Just like his heart. Seething, he sucked in deep breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

The door clicked, and Natasha’s footsteps headed for the bathroom. “Clint?” she asked from the doorway. “I found some bandages.”

“Hey, Nat,” Clint said without turning towards her. “Can you grab me a razor and hair clippers from the drug store when you’re out? I’d rather not keep the prison look.”

“I can do that,” Natasha said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint shook off her comfort. He didn’t deserve it. It was his fault that Loki had caused so much destruction, that Fury had been forced to defy the WSC to save them from a nuke, that Phil was  _ dead _ …

“Clint!” Natasha snapped, grabbing his face with her hands.

Tearing himself away, Clint spun, pain lancing up his thigh, even as he locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror.

“It’s my fault, Nat. I wasn’t there!” he shouted, every ounce of his raw, twisting, burning pain in his voice. Natasha watched him, her eyes wide in her pale face. “I wasn’t there and he  _ died _ . Phil is gone and I never got a chance to tell him! I never… I never…”

“ _ Little hawk _ ,” Natasha whispered in Russian, gathering him close. At her familiar touch, the tears broke through Clint’s barriers, and he sobbed into her damp shirt. “If I could take this burden from you, I would.”

She tugged him out of the bathroom and guided him towards one of the twin beds. Clint resisted the urge to sink down onto it, instead reaching up to angrily brush away his tears. Dropping his towel, uncaring that he was naked, Clint pulled on the underwear Natasha offered. He hesitated before he shrugged on the plain white t-shirt Natasha held out, his eyes tracing over the bruises that decorated his skin in shades of black, blue and green. The injuries weren’t as bad as the torn skin of his wrists from the chains, but they were proof that the guards hadn’t been kind.

Shaking his head, Clint yanked the t-shirt over his head. After all the weight he’d lost during his confinement, the t-shirt wasn’t as tight as he’d expected. That was something Clint would have to fix.

Natasha tossed a pair of jeans on the bed. “It’ll probably be easier if you sit down for this,” she said.

Clint nodded, lowering himself carefully onto the corner of the bed. To take his mind off the pain as Natasha inspected the wound, Clint studied her face. She was pale and drawn, exhaustion written deep into her beautiful features. Grief, anger and a trace of sadness darkened her eyes, despite her best efforts to mask it. She was hurting just as much as Clint was, because it wasn’t just Clint who’d lost a friend and a home. SHIELD had been the saving of Natasha, too, and now the WSC might have taken that from them.

Her fingers were cool and gentle as she bound the wound with the bandages she’d found, and Clint ignored the way it made his thigh throb. “Thanks,” he said, the pain making his voice rougher. “For everything, I mean. Getting me out, fixing me up…”

Natasha looked up at him, her green eyes bright. “What else was I going to do, Clint?” she said. “I promised. You and me against the world if we have to.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, his voice shaking as that long ago promise echoed through his mind. Before he could stop himself, Clint reached over and curled his hand over one of hers. “So now what?”

Natasha turned her hand palm up to link their fingers together. “We do what we need to do,” she said.

<*>


	6. Natasha

_ Chicago, USA _

Natasha Romanoff breathed out carefully as she let herself back inside the dingy motel room. Her trip to the drug store and then the diner had been as brief as she could make them, but worry still coiled tightly in her gut. Clint was still curled up on the bed where she’d left him, although he appeared to have stopped staring blankly at the wall. Despite their beginnings, Clint was her best friend and her brother, although she knew better than to mention the latter to him out loud. They each had their scars, and they were both careful not to press on the ones that still ached.

Natasha had turned the TV on low before she’d left, hoping to get Clint to focus on something after his rage had left him exhausted. Clint was watching it now, and when Natasha glanced in the direction of the screen, she caught what looked like a news bulletin. “They’ve been playing the same thing on a loop,” Clint rasped, his gaze not shifting. “You should see this.”

Turning the volume up, Natasha watched with a heavy sense of fear growing in her stomach. “...destroyed the Ali Al Salem air base in Kuwait. The precise number of victims is still unknown, but an hour ago, a man calling himself the Mandarin claimed responsibility for the attack.”

Setting down her bags, she moved to sit beside Clint as shaky video footage filled the screen. The muted colours revealed a man in aviators with a long beard interspersed by military imagery and old historical footage. The video shouldn’t have been any different to the hundred like it Natasha had seen before, but there was something about the slow, measured threats that had her blood running cold. Whoever this Mandarin was, he was  _ dangerous _ . She and Clint watched the Mandarin’s threats in silence, and then the press conference where Stark had laid down his challenge. “It’s reasons like this that the world needs Nick Fury,” Clint said, his lips twisting upwards in a humourless smile.

“And SHIELD,” Natasha agreed, unable to shake the feeling that something was very,  _ very _ wrong. She took a deep breath, because Clint wasn’t going to like what she had to say next. “We need to contact Nick.”

Clint twitched, his whole body flinching. Natasha watched him, something twisting deep in her chest. “Nat… I can’t…” Clint clenched his jaw, swallowing hard.

Natasha could already tell this was an argument she was going to lose, but she had to try. “Something’s wrong,” Natasha said. “Nick would have come for us if he could have, but he didn’t.”

Something had stopped him. There weren’t many people who had that power.

Clint jerked his head up to glare at her, and Natasha was taken aback by the rage banked in his gaze. “And after we find Nick? Then what?” he said. “We go back to being good little SHIELD agents? Like nothing happened? Like Phil isn’t…”

Natasha could follow Clint’s thoughts. She read the guilt straight off his face. She glanced away, blinking away tears. “I don’t know, Clint,” she said softly. “But we have to do something.” She looked back at Clint. “I’m not giving up on Nick. I can’t do that.”

“I know,” Clint murmured. “I’m not asking you to, Nat. I just…” He trailed off, lapsing into silence.

Natasha closed her eyes as the meaning of what Clint was trying to tell her sank in. “You’re not coming with me, are you?” she said finally, pressing her shoulder against his. Clint looked like he could use the comfort, and truthfully, so could she.

“Nat…” Clint said. He raised his eyes to hers.

For the first time since Natasha had met him, not a single hint of emotion showed on Clint’s face. It might have been carved from ice for all the feeling it had. His eyes, however, tore at Natasha’s heart. They were dull and cold. A chill slid over her skin as she realized how much of her usually warm and  _ vibrant _ partner was simply  _ gone. _ Her heart gave a sickening thump.

“It’s okay, Clint,” she said gently, fixing a smile on her face. “I understand.”

If anything, Clint looked even worse after her words. “Don’t,” he rasped. “Please, Nat. Not this time.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “If you need me to watch your back, I’ll follow. You don’t need to ask.”

Natasha closed her eyes, her body shifting subtly until her shoulders curved and her spine lost a little of its straightness. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s why I can’t ask you to come with me. Not if you aren’t ready.” She opened her eyes, feeling the sting of tears. She reached out to cup Clint’s cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, Clint.”

Clint slumped forward to press his forehead against hers as he squeezed his eyes shut. “It won’t be forever. I just need… I’ll find you again, I promise.”

Natasha nodded. She believed him. Loyalty was one of Clint’s greatest strengths -- and weaknesses. The clinical part of Natasha’s mind -- the part that would always be the Black Widow -- had already deemed Clint’s state a liability. The weight of grief sat heavily on Natasha’s shoulders, but it was suffocating Clint. Love was doing that to him, doing that to them both. Because she had loved Phil Coulson. He’d been one of the first men she’d ever called friend.

“You  _ will _ call me,” she instructed Clint tersely. “Every week. If I think you are being stupid, I will find you and drag you back, yes?”

“I promise,” Clint said solemnly, but Natasha could still see the dark, twisting guilt behind his eyes.

Natasha wished she could find the words that would absolve Clint of it, but maybe there weren’t any. Phil would have known. He always had the words that Clint and Natasha needed to hear. “Good,” she said. “And Clint…” She swallowed, letting the Widow recede a little to reveal Natasha, hurting and raw. “Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.”

“I won’t,” Clint said thickly. “I promise, Nat, I won’t.”

<*>

The breeze was cool, but not cold, as Natasha walked down the street on the north side of Chicago. After bandaging up Clint’s remaining injuries and making sure he’d eaten a little, she’d left him to sleep and ventured back out into the city. She needed to find a way to check in with Nick or Maria, to work out how deep this mess went. On the way, she’d found a second hand store and traded some of their dwindling cash for a change of clothes that fit, including a battered leather jacket. It was hardly the clothes of the sleek agent she’d been, but they went a long way to helping Natasha not feel so much like a prisoner.

Spotting the payphone she’d been hoping for, Natasha scanned the street for anyone watching her, before reaching for the coins in her pocket. With a little bit more patience, she probably could have stolen a cell phone, but Nick had instilled a few old-school habits in her. Dialling an old number, Natasha held her breath as the phone connected to the message service. There was no guarantee the number would still work, or that there would be anything waiting for her, but when the electronic voice informed her that she had a message, she almost closed her eyes in relief.

“ _ Hi, Natalie _ ,” Nick’s familiar voice greeted via the message. There was something dark underneath his bright tone -- grief, maybe, or sadness. “ _ So things haven’t worked out the way I planned. I lost my job, so I won’t be able to meet up with you in Seattle after all. Call me when you get this message, and maybe we can catch up for coffee? _ ”

With a shaking hand, Natasha pressed the button to hear the message again. ‘Losing his job’ wasn’t one of their coded phrases, and Natasha was immediately scared something had happened at SHIELD. It was a risk for Nick to send her an open message like that, but if Nick was desperate…

Natasha shook her head, hanging up the phone. She needed more information.

Crossing the street, Natasha shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and tried to think. She could try to find a library -- Nick might have left a longer message at one of her email accounts. She could also try heading for New York, but Nick might not even be there anymore.

Grimacing to herself, Natasha shook off her worry. It was irrelevant and unnecessary. Whatever had happened to Nick and SHIELD was in the past. What was useful now was information -- Natasha needed intelligence to formulate a plan. Her first goal was to make sure the World Security Council never touched her, or Clint, again. Everything else was a secondary mission.

Rolling her shoulders, Natasha started heading downtown. She needed to find a public library.

<*>

“Clint?” Natasha called out softly as she let herself back into their motel room.

Clint, curled up on one of the beds, looked up at her with a blank expression. Nothing shifted in his face, his eyes a dull, dark blue. With a sigh, Natasha shrugged off her jacket and walked over to curl up on the other bed. There was nothing she could do but wait for Clint to surface from whatever dark corner of his mind he’d descended into. Instead, she filled Clint in on what she’d learned, because despite everything, her partner would still be listening.

“Something is seriously wrong, Clint,” she finished. “Nick… what if he’s lost control of SHIELD? What if that’s why he couldn’t come for us?”

Of course, that raised more questions than it gave answers. Nick wasn’t the only person at SHIELD who would have fought to bring Clint and Natasha home -- Maria, for one, would not have stopped, and she was Deputy Director. Or had been. What had Natasha missed while she’d been imprisoned?

“Shit,” Clint hissed, and for a second, his blank expression cracked. Tears welled in his eyes before he rubbed a hand over his face. “Nat… I can’t. I’m sorry. Please.” He raised pain-filled eyes to hers. “Just give me a few weeks. I’ll be back, I’ll find you. I just need time.”

Natasha nodded, even though it felt like something deep within her chest was being torn away. As much as Natasha needed Clint’s strength by her side, Clint needed it more for himself. He wasn’t abandoning her anymore than she was abandoning him by letting him go alone. “I know,” she told Clint. “I just didn’t want you to think you’d been forgotten.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Nat. If I only had a fraction of your strength…”

Natasha uncurled herself from the bed, crossing the floor to pull Clint into a tight hug. “You do, Clint. You do,” she whispered.

He let out a shuddering sob, his arms tightening around her. Natasha let him, stroking a hand down his back to provide what little comfort she could. He crumpled against her, and wetness sank into the shoulder of Natasha’s shirt. She shut her eyes against her own tears, pressing a kiss to Clint’s messy hair. Finally, Clint leaned back, brushing the few tears that had escaped from his face.

“So what are you going to do now?” he asked in a rough voice.

“Head to Washington,” Natasha replied. “I left a message for Nick to meet me, but if he can’t, I’ll find Maria or Jasper.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. They’ll help.”

Natasha nodded, although she wasn't so sure. If something had happened to Nick, forced him out of SHIELD, or at least to the side, there was no guarantee Maria and Jasper were in a position to help either. But she had to try.

One way or another, she’d get to the bottom of this. She had to.

<*>

_ Washington DC, USA _

The wind was biting as Natasha climbed out of the car on the outskirts of DC, and Natasha huddled a little further into the hoodie she wore under her jacket. It was Clint’s, which meant it was a little big, but it was the closest she was going to get to her partner for a while. Only hours before, she’d watched Clint pack a duffel, his face still eerily blank and his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight. True to his promise, he’d kissed her on the forehead before he’d left, whispering goodbye into her hair.

Natasha could see the Potomac River in the growing shadows of the evening, the water lit up by the last traces of sunset. The  _ Triskelion _ loomed further upstream, but Natasha was no longer sure of her welcome there. It wasn’t just what the World Security Council had done. Two of the reasons she’d felt safe with SHIELD were gone -- Clint to whatever safehouse he’d fled to, and Nick no longer Director. The third reason -- Phil -- was still a deep ache sitting under her ribs.

Natasha still had friends at SHIELD -- Maria and Jasper wouldn’t give up on her, and Bobbi and Sharon would help her the second she asked. Natasha’s stomach clenched. Maybe Clint was right, maybe after she’d found Nick and found a way to say goodbye to Phil, she should leave. Start a new life somewhere else, where she didn’t have to be the Black Widow anymore.

The prickle between her shoulders put Natasha on alert just before the scuff of a boot to her left. Sliding her hand into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of a knife and sank deeper into her patch of darkness. A few feet away, Bobbi stepped underneath a streetlight that was flickering on. “Natasha?” she called out quietly.

Despite everything, Bobbi looked good. She wore combat boots and jeans with a leather jacket, her blonde hair curling loose over her shoulders. Natasha had to swallow, her throat suddenly tight. “Bobbi?” she replied, stepping forward so Bobbi could see her, but not relaxing. She’d saved that coded email in a draft folder where only Nick could find it. “Where’s Fury?”

Bobbi grimaced. “It’s a long story,” she said, “but I swear he sent me.”

Natasha nodded. She trusted Bobbi, but after what had happened with the World Security Council, she was wary.

Shifting, Bobbi stretched both arms out to the side, palms open. “I wasn’t followed, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she added.

Letting her shoulders relax, Natasha breathed out slowly. “Sorry,” she said.

“No, hey,” Bobbi replied with a wry smile. “If I’d been recently fucked over by the WSC, I wouldn’t exactly be trusting, either.” She glanced around at the surrounding rooftops. “Should I be worried that Clint’s pointing an arrow at me right now?”

Natasha’s stomach twisted at Bobbi’s attempt at humour, and not just because Clint would never hurt Bobbi. “Clint’s not here,” she said, her voice rougher than she’d intended.

Bobbi blinked. “What do you mean he’s not here?” she asked. “Where did he go? Do we need to go after him?”

Natasha shook her head. “We won’t find him,” she said, because it was the truth. Clint might not be able to vanish the way Natasha could, but he could go to ground, bury himself in shadows. She took a deep breath. “I’ll handle it when it becomes necessary.”

“Shit.” Bobbi’s face darkened with something that almost looked like grief. “That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

Natasha tensed. She hadn’t missed the fact that Bobbi had yet to actually tell her anything. “What’s going on?” she said.

Bobbi grimaced. “A lot, and you’re not going to like most of it. Do you have any stuff you need to grab?”

Natasha shook her head. The only gear she had was in the bag slung across her chest.

“Come on,” Bobbi told her. “Maria wants to see you.”

Natasha nodded, silently following Bobbi towards a grey sedan. She climbed into the passenger seat, and turned to Bobbi when Bobbi didn’t immediately start the car. She noted with a detached sort of interest that Bobbi’s grip was white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Just tell me, Bobbi,” Natasha said quietly.

Bobbi let out a long, shaking breath. “Okay,” she said. Her blue-grey eyes were wide when she glanced at Natasha. “Phil Coulson is alive.”

Natasha froze, her skin flushing hot even as her blood turned to ice. She wanted to cling to Bobbi’s words, to believe they were true, even as she wanted to snarl and shove them away. She’d  _ grieved _ . She’d watched  _ Clint _ grieve. And yet, if Phil  _ was _ alive… She drew in a shaky breath, trying to ease the giant, invisible hand squeezing her heart. “How?” she rasped.

“I don’t know the details,” Bobbi explained hurriedly, her gaze worried. “But Fury… Fury somehow brought him back to life. Coulson  _ was _ dead. He’s just… not dead anymore.”

So Nick hadn’t lied. He’d pushed aside his own grief and tried something dangerous and no doubt insane, but he hadn’t lied. Natasha wasn’t sure why that knowledge made it easier to breathe. She of all people understood the lies Nick sometimes had to tell to keep the world spinning.

“You’ve seen him?” Natasha said, not letting her fingers grip the seat like they wanted to.

Bobbi nodded. “I have,” she replied. “He’s… well, he looks better than he should, but whatever Fury did wasn’t without its price.”

Taking another deep breath, Natasha nodded. She wanted to demand Phil’s location, to confirm with her own eyes that Phil was still breathing, and then find Clint so they could heal together. Except, she couldn’t. Bobbi still hadn’t explained what was going on with Nick and the WSC. Or the current situation with the Mandarin that was across the news, because SHIELD would be involved. Natasha’s instincts were screaming that something was very wrong, and she couldn’t ignore that.

“You said Maria wanted to see me?” she said, as calmly as she could. Only someone who knew her well would be able to hear the faint tremor in her voice. “I assume it will be easier to be briefed once?”

“Yeah,” Bobbi agreed, but even as she started the car, she sent several worried glances in Natasha’s direction.

Natasha ignored her, three words echoing around and around in her mind:  _ Phil was alive _ .

That wasn’t going to solve all their problems, but it was a start.

<*>

Natasha managed to banish the throbbing hurt and anger to the back of her mind by the time Bobbi parked the car a block from Maria’s apartment. Natasha was barely holding on, her body threatening to vibrate out of her skin, but she breathed deeply and hung onto her control.

As Bobbi got out of the car, she scanned the street as if looking for surveillance. Natasha’s hand automatically reached for a weapon, but Bobbi shook her head. Natasha relinquished her grip on the knife hilt, but didn’t move her hand away completely.

They were both in sight of the brightly lit front door when there was a creak of leather to her right. Spinning, she had her knife in her hand before she realized she was staring at a partially raised shield. A very familiar shield. She blinked.

“Captain Rogers,” she greeted warily, raising her gaze to Rogers’ face.

Rogers stared back at her with wide eyes. He’d had a haircut since Natasha had last seen him, covered in grime and soot after the battle in New York. He’d obviously been getting up to speed on the new century too, because he was wearing jeans with a white t-shirt and a navy jacket. Natasha had to curl her hand into a fist to stop herself reaching up to rub at her chest over her heart. Phil would have loved to have helped Rogers settle into life and SHIELD. Loki had a lot to answer for.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rogers said. His eyes narrowed. “They told me you’d been reassigned.”

Natasha snorted, relaxing a little because Rogers didn’t appear to be there to arrest her. “Is that what the WSC are calling it now?” she said dryly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bobbi moving her hand away from the small of her back and one of her presumably hidden staves. She used her other hand to wave someone back, carefully making sure Rogers couldn’t see. A flash of blonde hair on the other side of the street made Natasha blink. They’d assigned Sharon Carter to watch over Rogers?

“If you weren’t reassigned, where have you been since New York?” Rogers asked, bringing Natasha’s focus back to him.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Imprisoned in a secret WSC facility for interrogation,” she said flatly.

Rogers’ eyes widened again. “They locked you up after you saved the world?” he hissed, and Natasha was gratified to see the anger growing in Rogers’ gaze.

“Perhaps we can discuss this inside?” Bobbi cut in pointedly. “Even if some of us weren’t invited?”

Clenching his jaw, Rogers narrowed his eyes in what Phil probably would have called steely determination. Rogers looked remarkably like one of his posters. “I’m coming with you,” he said. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Maria came down to meet them a few minutes later. She wore a black dress and heels just like any high-powered executive, and Natasha blinked, missing the familiar catsuit. In any other situation, Natasha might have smiled at the impressive acrobatics of Maria’s eyebrows when she caught sight of Rogers. When Rogers opened his mouth to speak, Maria cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Come on up,” she said.

Natasha followed them all silently, scanning the building and counting all the security cameras and exit points she could find. Her heart was beating fast, Rogers’ presence a constant itch at her back. The elevator ride seemed to take longer than it should. When they finally stepped out, Bobbi slid between Natasha and Rogers, making Rogers shift to the side. Suddenly Natasha could see down the length of the corridor, space opening up around her. She sucked in a deep breath, nodding gratefully to Bobbi.

“I’ve got your back, Tash,” Bobbi said quietly.

Nodding mutely, Natasha tipped her lips up in a small smile.

As soon as they were safely inside Maria’s apartment, Maria turned and fixed Rogers with a sharp glare. “So, Captain,” she said. “Care to tell me what you’re doing skulking around outside of my apartment?”

Rogers clenched his jaw again. “Maybe you’d care to tell me, Agent Hill, why Agent Morse and Agent Romanoff are meeting you here instead of at SHIELD? And in the middle of the night?”

Maria narrowed her eyes and let out a breath. “They’re here because we have a problem,” she said.

Rogers didn’t look happy at Maria’s answer, but Maria just sighed tiredly. “I need a glass of wine,” she said, heading for the kitchen. She pulled off her heels as she grabbed a half-empty bottle of white wine from the fridge, and glanced over her shoulder. “Natasha, how long since you had a decent meal?”

Something deep in Natasha’s chest unclenched at Maria’s concern. For all that Maria might be a senior agent, she was also Natasha’s friend. And judging by the new lines around Maria’s nose and mouth, and the unofficial meeting in her living room, Maria was also a friend who hadn’t been taking things quietly.

“That depends on what you define as decent,” Natasha said dryly, covering the surge of anger at the WSC with a smirk.

Pain flashed through Maria’s gaze before she covered it. “Well, I’ve probably got some leftover rice and vegetables if you’re hungry?” she said.

Natasha’s smile softened as it became more genuine. “Thanks, Maria,” she replied. She wasn’t exactly hungry, but she should probably eat. She’d lost weight in confinement.

Stepping forwards, Natasha deliberately brushed against Maria as she moved to the fridge. Maria glanced at her, something hesitant in her eyes. “I’m really glad to see you, Tasha,” Maria whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

Natasha nodded. She wouldn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t, but she did understand. “So what’s happened that’s got everyone running scared?” Natasha asked, turning around with the takeout containers. She flicked her gaze between Bobbi and Rogers. “And I don’t just mean the mess with Stark and the Mandarin.”

“That,” Maria said wryly, “is a very complicated question.”

Natasha frowned. “Well, I have time,” she said, her voice hardening.

Maria glanced at her, but Natasha couldn’t get a read of what Maria was feeling. “What about Clint?” Maria asked levelly.

Glancing down at the takeout container in her hand, Natasha decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. She debated how much she should say about Clint. Part of her still wanted to drive back to Chicago, even though Clint would be long gone by now. She hadn’t been lying to Bobbi earlier -- Clint would be hard to find, even for her. The best she could do was leave messages and hope he called her. Besides, Natasha owed Nick a debt too. “I’ll fill Clint in later,” she said finally. “He has something he needs to do first.”

Maria nodded, but Rogers clenched his jaw again. “Clint… Agent Barton. Did the WSC lock him up, too?” he asked.

Natasha looked directly at him. “Yes,” she said bluntly. “The WSC deemed us both to be liabilities to global security.” Rogers frowned, but Natasha shrugged. “The world isn’t black and white, Captain. Clint and I have always operated in the grey. Some people don’t like that.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Rogers insisted. “To lock you up.”

“What do you think we’re fighting for, Captain?” Maria said.

Rogers blinked, some of the righteous anger fading from his gaze. “We’re fighting the WSC?” he said.

Maria frowned. “Maybe, but I’m beginning to think not,” she said. She glanced at Natasha. “I should start from the beginning. About five months ago, Director Fury got suspicious about several ongoing operations that didn’t quite add up. He wasn’t the only one worried, but he brought his suspicions to me, and we started investigating.”

“That’s where I came in,” Bobbi added. “The Director asked me to get some files from a secure SHIELD facility. I was part of a team sent in when the facility was suspected of being compromised, so no one noticed I’d copied the files. Only, there were a lot more files than I expected.”

Maria grimaced. “That’s not all. The files were classified higher than the Director’s clearance level. A week after he tried accessing them at SHIELD, Fury was brought up on exaggerated and false charges by the WSC,” she said.

She let out a breath, turning to Natasha. “They came after Fury in the chaos immediately after the Battle of New York. We hadn’t even started clean up. It happened fast -- and just before they grabbed you and Clint. By the time we knew what was going on, you’d disappeared. We’ve been trying to find you ever since, but the WSC hid their tracks well.” Maria glanced away. “If we’d had SHIELD’s entire resources to use, we probably could have managed it, but I couldn’t risk it. Victoria Hand and some of the other senior agents are already suspicious about my loyalties, and I need to be able to help Jasper.”

Natasha swallowed heavily. “So Fury isn’t the Director of SHIELD anymore?”

“No,” Maria replied. “Victoria Hand is. Fury is currently a wanted man.”

Sucking in a slow breath, Natasha ignored the way her stomach cramped. SHIELD without Nick didn’t seem possible. For as long as Natasha had known him, SHIELD had been Nick’s life -- even before he’d become Director. His belief in the good SHIELD could do and his pragmatic view of how the world worked had been two of the reasons Natasha had  _ stayed _ with SHIELD. Nick had helped Natasha carve out a home, and damned if she was going to give up on Nick now.

“That’s not all,” Maria continued. “The last three months have seen an increase in SHIELD missions that don’t seem entirely on the level. Both Fury and I suspected a ring of moles, possibly reporting back to the WSC itself. Jasper -- Agent Sitwell -- has gone undercover to try and infiltrate the group, but…” She grimaced. “It goes a lot deeper than we thought. Jasper had a meeting recently with one of the suspected members, but he hasn’t reported back yet.”

“Shit,” Bobbi muttered quietly.

Maria glanced at Rogers. “How did you find out about this?” she asked. “I thought you were supposed to be on a mission in Varna?”

Rogers grimaced. “I was,” he replied. “But I… overheard two of the other agents with me talking about unsanctioned missions.” He looked straight at Maria. “And then I heard your name.”

“So you decided to skulk outside my apartment as soon as you got back?” Maria said dryly.

Looking a little abashed, Rogers nodded. “I figured if there was no truth to your being involved, I’d find out soon enough.”

“And then Natasha and I turned up,” Bobbi said. She glanced at Maria, frowning. “Should we be worried someone else is watching you?”

Maria shook her head. “I haven’t spotted any tails or surveillance,” she said. She sent Rogers a wry look. “What you overheard was probably just junior agents speculating on my loyalty.”

“Well,” Rogers said, gesturing at them all. “Maybe they have a point.”

Maria’s eyes immediately went cold and flinty. Natasha respected that terrifying anger because she could feel her own curling through her stomach. “I am loyal to SHIELD, Captain Rogers,” Maria bit out icily. “I always have been.”

“We all are,” Bobbi agreed, her tone even, but Natasha could see the way the skin around her eyes had tightened. “That’s why we’re here. There’s something going on inside SHIELD, and the WSC won’t listen.”

“If it’s not the WSC behind it,” Maria added grimly. She swallowed a large mouthful of wine, her toes curling into the carpet like she was trying to stop herself from pacing.

“What about Director Hand?” Rogers asked.

“She needs proof before she can act,” Bobbi said.

Maria snorted. “Acting without concrete proof is against  _ protocol _ ,” she growled. Then she sighed, closing her eyes. “No, that’s unfair. Director Hand would help us if we could convince her, but I’m worried that by the time we do, it will be too late.”

Natasha shuddered. When she glanced up, she found Rogers watching her. Natasha lifted an eyebrow, because she wouldn’t be judged, not even by Captain America. To her amazement, Rogers ducked his head. Natasha’s heart squeezed, the gesture reminding her painfully of Clint.

She squared her shoulders and squashed down the part of her that loved Clint. The part that had befriended and grieved for Phil Coulson, and that had counted Maria and Nick Fury among her friends. Instead, she let the Black Widow come to the surface. She needed the cool logic more than her tangled emotions, needed to strip back the world until it existed as a series of problems and solutions.

Natasha felt her face smooth out into a blank mask, her confused thoughts calming. She could see by Rogers’ face he was unsettled by it, but she only cared in an abstract way. It wouldn’t affect her mission.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“You don’t have to help, Tash,” Bobbi said quietly. Her eyes were sad, but Natasha didn’t understand why. “You can sit this one out. We’re not asking…”

“No,” Natasha interrupted. “I’m volunteering.” She glanced at Bobbi. “Nick Fury once offered me a choice, and I made it. This is what I chose.”

Maria nodded. “And you, Rogers?” she said.

“Call me Steve,” Rogers said. “I mean, we are plotting together.”

“So,” Natasha said, turning to Maria, who nodded once. Maria respected the Black Widow, and knew more than most what it meant when she was in charge. “What do you need me to do?”

<*>


	7. Phil

_ Providence Base, Ontario _

Phil grunted in satisfaction as his fist slammed into the soft padding of the punching bag. Since waking up to a changed world, he sometimes felt like a monster lived inside his chest, clawing and snarling behind his ribs. It wasn’t just the anger at what Loki had done, both to him and to Clint, or what the World Security Council had done to those he cared about. The pain and rage Phil could swallow down, but the grieving sense of  _ loss _ wrapped around his guts never let go. He wasn’t even sure  _ what _ he was missing -- there was just something empty inside him.

Lashing out at the bag with a fast series of jabs, Phil followed the with a vicious elbow, but it did little to help. Even though he’d taken care to wrap his hands, his knuckles still stung with every punch, his skin rubbed raw from the long punishment.

When someone entered the deserted gym behind him, Phil sent one last hard kick to the bag, sending it swinging. His chest heaved as he breathed, sweat prickling his skin and sticking his t-shirt to his back. His strength still wasn’t what it used to be, but if it came down to a fight, Phil would at least be able to hold his own now. His fast recovery had been a little overwhelming, but Phil had made a promise not to poke. Also, he  _ needed _ to be on his feet and ready to fight.

Turning, Phil arched an eyebrow at the intruder, not really in the mood for company. Nick stared back at him, lines of exhaustion bracketing his eye. His shoulders were tense under his t-shirt, but he didn’t look quite as hollowed out as he had when Phil had first woken up. Letting out a breath, Phil grimaced wryly, but softened his glare. Nick didn’t deserve Phil’s anger, not after everything Phil had put him through.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Nick said, his voice loud in the predawn quiet.

“No,” Phil replied, unable to stop the trace of bitterness from coming through. Clint was out there somewhere, alone and hurting. That was enough to have Phil gasping awake from nightmares every time he shut his eyes. Rolling his shoulders, Phil slammed another vicious punch into the bag. A sharp sting spread across his knuckles as they started to bleed.

Nick raised his eyebrows, probably guessing exactly what was going through Phil’s head. “You want to talk about it?” he offered.

“Not really,” Phil replied.

Nick smiled. It was only a small quirk of lips, but Phil caught it all the same. “Okay,” Nick said, stepping forward. “Want to fight something a little harder than that bag?”

Glancing over at his old friend, Phil nodded. It made him feel a little better than he wasn’t the only one trying to burn off a little restless tension. “Sure,” he agreed.

Nodding, Nick moved to wrap his own hands, only to hesitate. “Just promise me one thing, Cheese,” he said quietly, reaching out to grip Phil’s shoulder. “ _ Tell me _ before you run off and do something stupid, okay?”

Phil let out a breath. “I’ll try,” he said.

<*>

Phil was about to do something very stupid that was probably also going to get him in a lot of trouble. Mostly from Nick, but Phil wasn’t counting out the World Security Council either. He just wasn’t sure he had any other choice. Something big had happened recently -- the tension in the base had increased until it was choking the air. Melinda and Nick were both strained, and Phil had no doubt they’d tell him what was going on eventually. He just wasn’t sure he could afford to wait.

Of course, his plan was probably insane -- New York was a hell of a way to go for a meeting that might turn out to be nothing. Or a WSC trap.

After his training session with Melinda, Phil drifted down to the vehicle bay. Nick didn’t have much at his secret base, but he had a few old SUVs, and more importantly, Agent Alphonso Mackenzie was there to work on them.

“Hey, Mack,” Phil greeted softly when Mack slid out from underneath the car to grab a wrench.

Mack and Phil had never been close, not past the odd ribbing about basketball scores, but Mack and Clint  _ had _ . Phil couldn’t count the number of times Clint had reported to his office smeared with engine grease and smiling happily. Phil pushed the memories aside, ignoring the icy fear that stabbed his heart.

“Agent Coulson,” Mack greeted, his eyes widening a little with surprise. “It’s good to see you up and around, sir.”

“Thank you,” Phil replied, smiling faintly at the genuine warmth in Mack’s voice. He swallowed, deciding to get right to the point. “I hear you’re heading into Cochrane this afternoon for a supply run. I don’t suppose I could catch a lift?”

Mack blinked, sitting up and wiping his hands on a rag as he eyed Phil carefully. “I don’t mean to offend you, sir, but are you sure you’re up to it?”

Phil smiled tightly. This was the difficult part. “I have something I need to do for Nick,” he said, which wasn’t even completely a lie. “And needs must. We’re a little short-handed, and there’s no one else.”

Mack nodded, accepting Phil’s words. “Well, I’ll be ready to go in about an hour, if that’s okay?” he said. “As long as you don’t mind being stuck in a car for a few hours with just me and the radio for company.”

“Actually,” Phil said, thinking of the miles of quiet away from prying eyes. “That sounds rather nice.”

Mack flashed Phil one of his warm, wide smiles, chuckling softly. “All right then, sir,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you in an hour.”

<*>

An hour later, Phil met Mack near the old jeep he was taking into Cochrane. Mack nodded once in greeting, climbing inside, but Phil hesitated. Swallowing, he gazed up the ramp to the forest outside. He wasn’t second-guessing himself exactly, but once he did this, there would be no going back.

Pushing down his doubts, Phil climbed into the passenger seat. “Is everything okay, sir?” Mack asked, glancing at him as he turned the key in the ignition.

Phil attempted to offer him a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “I just… I know what I’m doing is right, but…” Nick wouldn’t approve, and Melinda was definitely going to kick his ass for this. “Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, as they say.”

Phil caught the shadow that passed across Mack’s face. “You don’t agree?” he asked.

Mack pulled out onto the narrow dirt road before he replied. “No, it’s not that,” he said quietly.

“You don’t like what Nick is doing?” Phil asked, careful to keep all judgement out of his voice. He was Nick’s friend, which meant he’d follow Nick to the ends of the earth and beyond. It also meant he wasn’t exactly objective when it came to Nick’s actions either.

“Truthfully, sir? Not really.” Mack let out a breath, his hands tightening briefly on the wheel. “This whole shadowy, rogue SHIELD thing feels wrong. It’s not what I signed up to do.”

Yet, Mack had still followed Nick. “Then why…” Phil started.

“Why am I here?” Mack interrupted. He flashed Phil a sidelong look, his mouth curling up into a wry smile. “Because I like the idea of a WSC controlled SHIELD even less. I heard about what they almost did in New York. How they were willing to nuke the whole of Manhattan to stop the aliens. That’s not the SHIELD I signed up for, either.”

Phil let out a breath, the flare of anger tightening his gut. When he’d found out, he almost hadn’t believed the World Security Council had gone that far. But considering the WSC had imprisoned his assets  _ after _ they’d saved the planet, he was no longer willing to give the WSC the benefit of the doubt. He was actually more inclined to  _ burn them to the ground _ .

“Yeah,” he told Mack. “Me either.”

They drove in silence for a while, and Phil tried to use the distance between himself and the base to relax the tension thrumming through him.

“So,” Mack said finally, glancing at Phil. “You want me to give Fury a message when he finds out you’re gone?”

Phil’s heart skipped, and he let out a slow breath. “That obvious, huh?” he said wryly.

“Well, it wasn’t as subtle as some of the things I’ve seen you do, sir,” Mack replied, a hint of humour curving his mouth.

“I didn’t really have time for subtle,” Phil said quietly. He took another deep breath, because Mack might have seen through his bluff, but Mack also wasn’t stopping him. “New York. I’m heading to Manhattan.”

Mack nodded. “If Fury asks, I’ll pass it on,” he said.

“Thanks,” Phil said. “And thanks for giving me a ride anyway.”

“Yeah, well, I figure it’s got something to do with Clint,” Mack said, his eyes firmly fixed on the road. “He always used to say you’d come for him, no matter what. Not that Fury wouldn’t, but Fury has other things to worry about.” He did glance at Phil then, his brown gaze far too knowing.

“But I don’t?” Phil asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mack grinned, sharp and shark-like. “Oh, you do,” he said, “but I’m also pretty sure Fury’s not in love with Clint.”

Phil choked a little as the air froze in his lungs. Nick and Melinda knew that, of course, but Phil hadn’t thought anyone else had guessed. There was no point denying it. Not even death had changed that for Phil, regardless of whether Clint ever returned his feelings. “Yes,” he admitted quietly, clearing his throat when his voice came out hoarse. “I do.”

Mack nodded. “And that’s why you’re going to find him, sir.”

Phil nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “I am.”

<*>

_ Toronto Union Station, Canada _

Phil scanned the crowded street around him for what felt like the millionth time. Exhaustion wasn’t helping his growing paranoia, and he still had over twelve hours by train before he got to New York City. At least he had a passport now, grabbed from one of his old document stashes. Gritting his teeth, Phil retreated into the nearest coffee shop. Hopefully, putting his back against a wall would help him stop twitching. He ordered a coffee and found a free table where he could wedge himself into the corner and still keep a line of sight to the door.

Letting out a breath, Phil relaxed a fraction now that no one could sneak up behind him. He wasn’t exactly holding it together, but he’d come too far to back out now. Loki had left more scars than the ones on Phil’s skin, and in an ideal world, Phil would take time out to deal with that. Except from the moment Phil had opened his eyes --  _ alive _ \-- he’d been at war. No one had called it that, but Phil was an old soldier. He could see the signs. 

Everything he cared about had been taken from him. Not by aliens or gods, but by the very people he’d been trying to save. The World Security Council had taken his name and his life when they’d declared Agent Phil Coulson killed in action before the Battle of New York. They’d forced his best friend to give up the organization he’d helped build and go on the run, accused of crimes he hadn’t committed. Natasha and Clint -- the man Phil  _ loved _ \-- were locked up in a WSC prison, and the WSC was trying to turn SHIELD into something it was never meant to be.

Phil wouldn’t just let that happen. He might have been lost and hurting, alone except for a few friends, but he wasn’t done yet. He’d keep on fighting as long as he had to to get Clint and Natasha back.

Shaking off his spiralling thoughts, Phil dug out the old burner phone he was using. Phil stared at the phone screen for a long moment before his fingers tapped out a number he’d memorized a long time ago. It was an old message service Clint had set up, separate to SHIELD, in case he ever had to disappear. The WSC would be monitoring Clint’s SHIELD cell, but they wouldn’t know about this number. Calling wasn’t tactical -- Clint wouldn’t be likely to hear the message -- but it was the closest Phil would get to talking to the archer.

And right now, Phil needed that thread of hope.

There was no voice message, no way for Phil to hear Clint’s voice, just an electronic beep.  “Clint,” he said. His voice was rough and raw, unable to hide the way his bones felt like they were grinding together, pulling open all his scars. Reaching up, Phil rubbed his knuckles over his chest, and swallowed.  “I’m not even sure why I’m calling. I don’t know where you are, I can’t…” Phil swallowed, and cleared his throat.  “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Phil sucked in a breath. He had to hold it together, not only because of what he had to do in New York, but because Clint deserved better than to hear him fall apart. “It’s been one hundred and three days since the attack on the Helicarrier,” he recited, sounding like an echo of Agent Coulson. “And… I’m alive, Clint. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you this, not that I really imagined it until after I woke up. It’s a… long story.” Phil rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not why I called. Honestly, I’m not sure I know why. You’re not exactly going to listen to this.”

Three teenage girls walked past Phil’s table, giggling, and Phil reflexively scanned the coffee shop for threats. Reminded of where he was, Phil let out another shaky breath.  He wanted to promise that he’d find Clint, that he was coming for both Clint and Natasha, but he still had no idea how he was going to find them. He hoped whatever Skye had to show him would help.

“Even if you never hear this, there is one thing I want to say. I’m coming for you, Clint. You and Natasha. I don’t know how long it will take me, but both Nick and I are looking for you. I promise.” He let out another trembling breath, feeling the weight of his promise sink into him.  “I’m not giving up.  I just wanted you to know that.”

Carefully, Phil hung up the phone before he could spill any of the secrets bubbling up in his throat. Clint deserved to hear them, but not over the phone. Hell, Phil probably shouldn’t have told Clint he was still alive over the phone, either, but there were only so many secrets Phil could keep.  Clint deserved to hear what Phil had to say in person, when he was whole and safe and free. Leaning back, Phil breathed slowly, feeling that resolution sink into his bones. He  _ would _ find Clint and Natasha.

It was just a matter of time.

<*>

_ New York City, USA _

Phil stepped inside the warm diner, grateful to be out of the cold. The streets of New York in autumn weren’t quite the slap of ice in the face that was the city in winter, but it was still nice to be out of the wind. The diner was cozy, just like the ones Phil had loved to get breakfast in whenever he was assigned to SHIELD’s New York offices. He thought wistfully of his tiny apartment. It hadn’t been much and he’d rarely stayed there long, but it had been his. SHIELD had probably boxed it up and sold it months ago.

Scanning the morning crowd, Phil frowned and ignored the itch between his shoulder blades. He’d only realized afterwards that he’d never even arranged a time to meet Skye, which meant he was being watched. He hated being watched. Letting out a breath, Phil reminded himself that it was unlikely that anyone would kill him in a busy diner. There were too many potential witnesses.

Following the instructions, Phil took a seat in the back of the diner and settled in to wait. He thanked the waitress when she walked over and poured him a coffee, grateful for the caffeine. Shifting his gaze over the diner patrons, Phil curled his hands around the mug. The only people giving him any attention were the waitress and the dark-skinned man eating breakfast with his son in the corner. Neither particularly looked like a threat, but then neither did Phil, so he kept an eye on them anyway.

He ordered pancakes when the waitress came over again, and it took all Phil’s discipline to keep the polite smile fixed on his face. Jasper should be with him. He never ordered pancakes without Jasper there to complain about how bad they were. Or praise them when they were worthy. By now, it was tradition. Except, Jasper was in Washington trying to flush out the moles in SHIELD while Phil played dead.

Closing his eyes, Phil sucked in a breath. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe it was too early for him to be out in the field.

Phil snapped open his eyes as someone slid into the seat opposite him. The woman looked like she was in her early twenties, but she watched Phil with serious brown eyes. There was a tilt to her features that spoke of an Asian parent. Chinese, maybe. Her long brown hair trailed over her shoulder, and she wore jeans and a purple henley under a leather jacket.

“Okay, who the hell are you?” she hissed in a low voice.

Phil blinked, because he’d expected skepticism and paranoia, but not outright hostility. “Just someone looking for information,” Phil said, careful to keep his voice mild.

“I don’t believe you,” Skye said flatly. “I’m as up for a challenge as the next girl, but I’ve just spent the last three hours fending off attacks to trace who I am. They’re sophisticated and have resources and they tripped almost every alarm I had set up.” She glared at him. “What the hell did you get me into?”

Skye leaned back as the waitress stopped by with Phil’s pancakes, but she didn’t stop her narrowed eyed glare. Phil smiled at the waitress, but pushed the plate away as soon as her back was turned. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. “You’re right,” he said, curling his hands around his coffee mug. Shit, he hadn’t thought the WSC would be that bold yet. What the hell had he missed in three months? He glanced up at Skye. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

“No, hey, woah,” Skye said. Her eyes softened and she reached across the table to lay a hand on Phil’s arm. “Whatever trouble you’re in, I can help.”

Sighing, Phil rubbed his free hand over his face. He was still trying to find stable ground in the nightmare that had become his life, and he definitely didn’t want to drag anyone into his mess. What had seemed like a good idea when he’d left the Providence Base was turning into a very bad judgement call. “I’m actually not sure you can,” he said.

Skye shrugged. “Well, it can’t hurt to tell me about it, right?” she said.

Phil let out a huff of wry laughter. “Not so long ago you were demanding to know what I’d gotten you into,” he pointed out.

Skye shrugged. “That was before you gave me the sad, kicked-puppy look,” she said. Phil wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted or wary of how far he’d fallen. “Bedsides, I'm involved now anyway.”  She shrugged, glancing away to scan the diner. Phil noted the way her gaze lingered on the man with his son. “And to think, I haven’t even shown you what I found yet.”

Phil nodded, taking a sip of coffee to stop the questions bubbling up in his throat. “You did mention that when we agreed to meet,” he said levelly.

Skye blew out a sigh. “Yeah, and I’m still hoping you’re not crazy, you know,” she said. “Or evil.”

“I’d promise I’m not,” Phil told her, “but I could be lying.”

“Yeah, you could,” Skye agreed, her intelligent brown eyes catching his. “Except, I don’t think you are.” She glanced down and cleared her throat. “So, um, hi?”

Phil was quiet for a moment. He was grateful for the benefit of the doubt Skye gave him, but guilt still twisted his stomach at the danger he’d put her in. Making his decision, he held out a hand. “Hi, Skye,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Phil.”

Skye offered him a tentative smile and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Phil,” she said.

Phil took a deep breath. “So… what did you find?” he asked.

“Most of the places you had me looking into were pretty much what they were supposed to be. No strange activity at all,” Skye said with a shrug. “Except for one.” She glanced around the diner again, and leaned in towards Phil. “You wanted to know about that one in Alaska because it’s not just a military training base, is it?”

Some of Phil’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Skye snorted. “I worked it out. It wasn’t hard,” she said. “There were too many supplies going in and out for a training base -- including way too many plane flights. Like, seriously. And after one of those shadowy flights, about fourteen weeks ago, security around the place doubled.”

The glint of challenge slid from her face. “And then I found this,” she said. Putting a Starktab on the table between them, she spun it around and tapped an icon.

Almost immediately, a video expanded to fit the screen and began to play. The blood froze in his veins as Phil’s entire body stilled, his eyes locking onto the screen and unable to tear himself away. The picture was pixelated and filled with static, but the two black and white figures were unmistakable. Natasha.  _ Clint _ . 

_ No. _

Something inside Phil cracked. He sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t lessen the fear and anger that slammed into his stomach with the force of a force of a sledgehammer. If he’d been on his feet, he would have swayed. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, eyes fixed on black and white images in front of him.

The video had been caught outside, the guards alert and frantic enough to suggest an escape attempt. Both Natasha and Clint wore what looked like cargos and thick jackets, and hopefully whatever weapons they’d been able to steal. When Clint glanced up at the camera, Phil’s heart shuddered in his chest. Clint had lost weight, his sleek muscle gone and his skin pale with exhaustion. Clint’s hair was long and scraggly, a beard covering his jaw and cheeks, but it was the bleak glint in his eye that hurt the most. Clint looked  _ broken _ .

What the fuck had Loki done to him?

The fuzziness around Phil intensified, rising up to swamp him.  He was vaguely aware of Skye watching him, but he didn’t really notice much aside from the taste of blood where he’d bitten his tongue.

“That’s what you’re really searching for, isn’t it?” Skye said quietly. “Who are they?”

Helplessly, he tore his gaze away from the grainy footage. “My team,” he said, his voice so rough he could barely recognize it. “My friends.”

Sucking in another breath, Phil tried vainly to pull himself together. Clint and Natasha wouldn’t be miraculously saved if he fell apart, so he simply  _ didn’t _ . There would be time later, if he was lucky. Right now, he needed to focus. He was a SHIELD agent, and he had a job to do and assets to find.

“Your  _ team _ ?” Skye said, her eyes narrowed.

Phil nodded, latching onto the numb feeling spreading out from his chest.

Skye studied him. “What kind of team?” she asked. “No offense, but you kind of look like my old high school principal.”

Taking a deep breath to calm his heartbeat, Phil let a fraction of Agent Coulson float to the surface. “I worked for SHIELD,” he said levelly. The admission was a risk, but Phil trusted his gut.

“SHIELD?” Skye echoed, her eyes going wide. “You mean the guys in suits who helped deal with the  _ aliens _ a few months ago?  _ That _ SHIELD?”

Phil nodded, and sipped his coffee. He tapped the screen, Clint’s frozen face still staring back at them. “My friends, the ones you found, they were there too. They saved the world.”

“Holy shit,” Skye breathed, sagging backwards. She blinked, clearly trying to process everything. Then she narrowed her eyes at Phil again. “Wait a minute -- if you fought against the alien invasion, why did your team get locked up?”

Phil smiled, a bitter twist to his lips. “Politics,” he said.

Skye blinked. “That’s  _ messed up _ ,” she replied.

“You have no idea,” Phil told her. He let out a breath and cleared his throat, trying to grab some of the equilibrium Agent Coulson was known for. “How long ago was that video recorded?”

“Just over a week,” Skye said.

A second later, Phil’s phone rang. The sound was jarring enough that he tensed. He’d left the number for Nick to find, because he was well aware of how dangerous his trip to New York was. Cautiously, he answered it. “Hello?”

“You better not have come all the way to New York for diner pancakes, Cheese,” Nick Fury said, but there was a hard undercurrent to his teasing words.

Phil closed his eyes, swallowing. “Nick…” he said. “I can explain.”

“Good,” Nick replied. “Because I’m going to want an explanation.” He hung up.

Blinking open his eyes, Phil glanced towards the door. Sure enough, Nick appeared a second later. He was dressed in a dark red hoodie under a battered jacket, sunglasses covering his eyes and a hat pulled low on his forehead. Skye tensed when she saw him, but Phil reached out to stop her before she could leave. “He’s a friend,” he said hurriedly.

Both Skye’s eyebrows rose. Nick walked over to the table, pointedly sliding in next to Phil. Grudgingly, Phil shifted over and tried to gauge how angry Nick was. Phil didn’t blame him, not after the way Phil had snuck out of the base in Ontario, but Nick just sighed. “So what had you tearing all the way down to New York and risking Melinda’s wrath?” he asked.

Phil let out a breath. “Skye, meet Nick. Nick, this is Skye,” he said. He nudged the tablet over towards Nick, and glanced up at his old friend. “Nick, she found them.”

Nick stilled. Phil couldn’t see Nick’s eyes, but he seemed to stare at the tablet -- and Clint’s pixelated, frozen face -- for a long moment. “Where?” he asked hoarsely.

“Alaska,” Skye said quietly. “They’re probably not there anymore, and I haven’t really been able to track them any further yet, but that’s where they were.”

Nick uttered a low, hissed curse. “I wasn’t going to tell you this here, Phil, but Maria called me before I found you. Natasha made contact.”

Phil’s stomach clenched, his heart thumping twice against his ribs. The words swirled around and around his head, a sense of freewheeling hope spreading through his chest. “And Clint?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.

“He’s still in the wind,” Nick told him. “I’m sorry, Phil. We’ll find him.”

Phil swallowed, hope sinking in his stomach like lead. Clint could take care of himself, but after Loki, the invasion… Clint would take his part in what had happened  _ hard _ . Clint had always blamed himself first when things went wrong. Closing his eyes, Phil sucked in a desperate breath. There was a good chance Clint didn’t know Phil was alive, either, and Phil’s heart squeezed painfully. “And Natasha?” he asked, because Clint wasn’t his only asset and friend. “How is she?”

“Whole,” Nick told him. “Hiding at Maria’s. That’s all I know.”

Phil nodded. That was a start.

“You people are kind of scary, you know that?” Skye said.

Blinking at Skye, Phil frowned. Instead of the wariness he’d expected, she was watching Phil and Nick with a kind of wistfulness.

Nick glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “You should get out of the city for a few weeks,” he told her. “Do you have any friends or family you can stay with?”

The shadow on Skye’s face darkened. “My foster mother kicked me out as soon as I turned eighteen, so no.” She glared at Nick defiantly. “And all my friends live in the city.”

Nick shot Phil a glance, but Phil couldn’t read it through the sunglasses. “Is there anywhere else you can go?” he asked Skye.

Skye frowned, her dark eyes glinting with rebellious anger. For a second, she reminded Phil of Clint so sharply, the air caught in his lungs. “I’m not running,” Skye said. “I have a life here.”

Nick’s reply was cut off when his phone rang. His shoulders tensing, he answered it. “Yes?”

Nick frowned at the reply, his gaze scanning the diner almost unconsciously. Phil tensed, his hand twitching for the gun he no longer wore on his thigh. The instinct was ingrained from when both he and Nick had been in uniform, and it had never failed Phil yet. He raised his eyebrows as Nick hung up.

“We need to move,” Nick said grimly. “Maria said there’s been a sudden surge in chatter about New York, which is probably my fault.”

“ _ Your _ fault?” Skye said.

“I’m the one they want,” Nick replied wryly. “And I’m not the most inconspicuous, even when I’m dressed like I live under a bridge.”

Despite everything, Phil felt his lips curve up into a smile. “Just like old times.”

Nick’s mouth twitched too before he turned to Skye. “You’ve got two choices,” he said. “Find a place to hide out for a few weeks, or come with us.”

Skye flicked her gaze between Nick and Phil before nodding once. “I think I’ll take my chances with you,” she said. “But I have to warn a friend first. He should get out of town, too.”

As she spoke, her gaze drifted back to the man and his son. When Nick frowned, Phil nodded silently in their direction. Nick raised his eyebrows but relaxed, and when Skye moved to slip out of her seat, Nick stopped her. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a wad of folded bills and held it out. “Give him this,” Nick said. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

Skye nodded. Taking the cash, she walked straight over to the dark-skinned man and his son. Phil let out a breath, glancing away from Skye and her friend. Instead, he looked at Nick. “For what it’s worth,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry.”

Nick raised his eyebrows again. “You should be,” he said. “Melinda is not happy with you.”

Phil winced. “I should have waited, I know. I just…”

“Hey.” Nick reached out to put a hand on Phil’s arm. “You  _ found _ Barton and Natasha. That’s something I haven’t been able to do.”

Swallowing, Phil nodded. “For all the good it’s done,” he muttered. He sighed. “And Skye did the actual finding. I just asked her to.”

“We know more than we did now. That’s something,” Nick pointed out. “And Natasha can tell us more when we talk to her.”

Phil nodded again, reminding himself that Clint wouldn’t disappear forever. No matter how hurt or angry he was, Clint was still a hero. He’d always be a hero. When someone was in trouble, Clint didn’t just stand by, and he was an Avenger now, no matter what the WSC said.

Besides, Phil didn’t think either he or Natasha would let Clint disappear for too long. They were tied together by too much, and together, they’d find him, no matter what.

<*>


	8. Clint

_ St. Louis, Oklahoma _

Clint sucked in a deep breath, trying to squash down the survival instincts that were urging him to flee. His entire plan after he’d said goodbye to Natasha was to get  _ away _ , to go somewhere he could curl up and  _ breathe _ for a while. Avoiding Iowa was second nature at this point, and somehow that meant Clint had ended up going south-west down the I-44. He’d ended up near St. Louis mostly by chance, but with Natasha’s warning to stay in contact still running through his head, Clint had decided to take a calculated risk.

Nick Fury’s old safehouse stood at the end of the street, silent and innocuous in the middle of suburbia. It wasn’t in the SHIELD network, but Clint and Natasha had used it a few times over the years, enough that Clint couldn’t guarantee no one else knew of its existence. But Nick had gear that would make Clint’s disappearing act a hell of a lot easier, left at his safehouse ‘just in case’. Nick had always been a paranoid bastard, and Clint had never been more grateful.

Scanning the street again for anything suspicious, Clint let his hand stray closer to one of his hidden knives and headed for the safehouse’s front door. A discreet press to a hidden panel and a scan of his fingerprint, and Clint was through the security system and slipping inside. The air inside the house was closed in and musty, but it looked mostly like Clint remembered. Dust sheets covered the furniture in the front hall and the living room just off it, but the bedrooms upstairs would be usable, and the upstairs bathroom had more emergency medical supplies than the average doctor’s surgery. He’d been sewn up enough times in it, the sting of the needle almost drowned out by Coul--

Clint ruthlessly cut himself off, but it was too late. The ghosts were rising around him, the echoes of a calm, steady voice and warm hands, gentle on his skin as they pieced him back together. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories, an icy cold shard lodging itself in his heart. Coulson was  _ gone _ . He’d never chide or reassure Clint again. Clint was going to have to accept that, and part of Clint welcomed the pain.

It was no more than he deserved.

Forcing himself to move, Clint ignored the stairs and headed to one of the closets at the back of the house. He grabbed the bags he needed, carefully checking the contents and was back on the street in less than five minutes. For a second, he thought he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye, but the street remained empty. It was probably just all the memories crowding along the edges of his mind, threatening to swamp him.

_ Fuck _ , Clint needed a drink.

And since there was no one to stop him, Clint decided to do just that.

<*>

_ Broken Arrow, Oklahoma _

Clint put a little space between himself and the safehouse, finally stopping in Broken Arrow, just outside of Tulsa, because the name amused him. The bar was shitty, but clean, and the vodka was cheap enough to burn as it went down, but it suited Clint’s mood. Or it had. Clint wasn’t nearly drunk enough not to feel someone watching him. He’d spent a lifetime with mercenaries, spies and assholes eyeing him. If they thought a little vodka would stop him shooting straight, well, they could try. Of course, alcohol never solved anything. Clint really should have learned that lesson from his old man.

Oklahoma was hardly the place Clint had expected an epic showdown. He should have covered his tracks better. Someone  _ had _ been watching Nick’s safehouse, and now they’d tracked him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw someone settle into the barstool to his right. He tried to ignore whoever it was, not in the mood for conversation. Instead, Clint kept his gaze on the scarred bar top and threw back another shot of vodka. He could still remember Phil’s face on that last morning in Pegasus, so he clearly hadn’t drunk enough yet. Although, he should possibly have tried to do this in private.

“I see you’ve still got a few bad habits, Hawkeye,” the man beside him said.

Clint stilled, his stomach clenching and his blood running cold. Slipping a knife out of his sleeve, Clint bit back the spike of fear at a stranger in a random bar using his codename. If this was a WSC ploy to catch him again, he wasn’t going to go quietly. Clint considered the man beside him out of the corner of his eye. There was something vaguely familiar about him. He was tall, broad-shouldered and carried himself like he could throw a punch. There was an arrogance there, too, in the way he glanced around the bar. Probably because he’d gone to an Ivy League college, paid for by Daddy’s money. He’d probably been one of those ridiculous white frat boys who said ‘bro’ a lot, too.

“What’s it to you?” Clint growled at him.

The man smirked, just as Clint’s inebriated brain placed why he was so familiar. Mr Arrogant was a SHIELD agent. Parker? Pattison? Something like that. Clint barely contained his derisive snort. So SHIELD was doing the WSC’s dirty work now? It figured.

“I just thought maybe you should start keeping better company,” Parker -- Pattison? -- said.

Clint smiled, but the expression wasn’t friendly. “Let me guess,” he drawled, his voice hard and bitter. “You’re the better company I should be keeping?”

Pattison held up his hands. “I’m not here to take you in, Hawkeye,” he said. “For either the WSC or SHIELD. You can walk out that door right now, and I won’t stop you.”

Clint was skeptical, but he could play along. “So if you’re not here to take me in,” he said, lifting his glass in the bartender’s direction. “What do you want?”

Pattison kept silent until the bartender walked over and poured Clint another shot of vodka. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.

Forcing a smirk to his lips, Clint looked Pattison up and down. “What makes you think that I’m that kind of boy?” he said.

Pattison scowled, his mouth curling in disgust, which made Clint want to punch him in the face. “A  _ business _ proposition,” Pattison corrected. “Wouldn’t you like to get back at the people who locked you up?”

It was tempting, but Clint had learned a long time ago that kind of vengeance never led anywhere good. “And what makes you think I need your help with that?” he said, throwing back the vodka.

“The organisation I represent can make it a lot easier,” Pattison said. He slid a small white card towards Clint. “Money, resources. Weapons.”

Maybe Pattison wasn’t SHIELD after all.

Clint was suddenly reminded of all the times he’d watched Coulson’s back while Coulson pulled the same trick with a business card. Clint bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would help control his sudden urge to throw up. He caught a glimpse of some sort of octopus logo before he shoved himself roughly away from the bar. “No way,” he growled. “I’m no one’s hired killer. Not anymore.”

“Take the card,” Pattison urged, his gaze weirdly intent. “You might reconsider.”

Clint smiled, as nasty as he could make it. “Fuck you,” he said. Then, before he punched Pattison in his arrogant face, he turned and staggered out of the bar.

<*>

Clint wasn’t in any fit state to drive, and he wasn’t suicidal enough to try, so he staggered back towards his motel room. He was pretty sure Pattison didn’t try to follow him, and no WSC strike team jumped out and arrested him, so he figured he was mostly safe. At least until he saw the small figure of a woman standing next to his stolen car. His gun was in his hand before he even registered who he was aiming at, Clint reacting on instinct even through the haze of alcohol.

“Oh my God!”

The curse was strangled, and was followed by the slap of something hitting the concrete. The young woman looked just as startled as Clint felt, her dark eyes wide. She looked vaguely familiar, and she wasn’t armed, but a bag from the local burger joint was half-squashed at her feet.

“Are you here to kill me?” Clint demanded, because appearances could be deceiving.

The woman’s eyes widened even further. “No!” she said shakily. “I can explain, I promise, but I’m not here to hurt you. I was hoping to ask for your help.”

Clint blinked, because that wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Not that he expected anyone to find him, particularly someone who sounded like they knew who he was. Now that he was looking closer, Clint could see the woman’s eyes were bloodshot, and she was trembling faintly.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman said quietly.

“I won’t,” Clint said, his voice a rasp. “Not unless you try to kill me first.” To prove he meant it, Clint lowered his gun, even though he had to bite down on his instincts  _ hard _ to do it.

The woman nodded, letting out a shuddering breath. “Okay,” she said. “Good.”

Clint studied her. There was a story behind her ragged appearance, but Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, to be drawn into whatever had happened to the woman. Even if he felt like he knew her. Clint wasn’t exactly ready to fend off bad guys, not if he was jumping at shadows. Only, Clint couldn’t just turn back on her, either. “You got a name?” he asked.

The woman blinked wide eyes at him. “Jemma Simmons,” she said quietly. She glanced around her, like she expected someone to jump out at them. “I’m a SHIELD agent.”

Raising both eyebrows, Clint wondered if he believed her. Simmons was green, if she really was an agent, and she undeniably needed Clint’s help. As if sensing his skepticism, Simmons shrugged. “Well, I’m usually stuck in a lab, but I’m SHIELD, I promise,” she said. She glanced to the side, her mouth twisted downwards. “Well, I used to be.”

Sighing, Clint resigned himself to his choice. “You got enough fries to share?” he asked, nodding at the bag still crumpled by Simmons’ boot.

Blinking, Simmons nodded warily.

Clint shrugged. “Why don’t you come in, then,” he said, nodding to his room. “You can tell me all about what you’re running from.”

Simmons looked startled, but then she bit her lip, glancing to the side again. Not just to avoid his eyes, Clint noted, but towards a room. “Thank you,” she said, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I… I appreciate this.”

Clint nodded, glancing away as memories danced across his mind. Grief slammed into him like a punch to the stomach, because this is what Phil had always done for Clint. Listened and helped, given Clint a place to shelter when he needed it. It seemed appropriate to pass on the favour, particularly since Phil couldn’t.

He cleared his throat. “Sure,” he said. “You can invite your friend, too. Or whoever’s hiding in that room you keep looking at.”

He retreated back into his room before Simmons could do more than gape, leaving the door open for her to follow. He settled on one of the shitty twin beds and pressed his back to the wall. A moment later, Simmons hesitantly crossed the threshold, a young man peering over her shoulder. He had curly hair and was watching Clint with wide, fearful eyes. A memory sparked in the back of Clint’s gaze as Simmons hesitantly closed the door, both her and her friend staying well out of Clint’s reach as they nervously gazed around the room.

“Fitzsimmons,” Clint breathed. Phil had spent a whole month going on about reports of a scientific dream-team from the Academy who he’d wanted to steal for some sort of taskforce. As always, the thought of Phil made his guts twist painfully.

Simmons nodded, attempting a smile. “This is Fitz,” she introduced, gesturing at the young man still trying to hide behind her.

“So,” Clint said when Simmons didn’t add anything else. “Want to tell me what’s going on? Why you came looking for me, despite the fact that I’ve been missing for three months?”

Simmons blinked at him again. “Didn’t you get a briefing after they pulled you out?” she asked.

Clint smiled coldly. “SHIELD didn’t pull me out,” he said. “Nat and I escaped on our own.”

“Oh,” Simmons said, her eyes widening. “That’s… I’m sorry.”

Clint shrugged, like being locked up indefinitely by the WSC hadn’t been eating away at him from the inside. “I’m sure Fury had his reasons for not coming,” he said.

Simmons grimaced. “I don’t think he could,” she said softly.

“What?” Clint demanded, sharper than he’d intended.

Simmons swallowed, and then straightened her shoulders. “Fury isn’t Director of SHIELD anymore,” she explained. “He’s a wanted man. The World Security Council made Victoria Hand the Director.”

Ice slid through Clint, and something deep in his chest cracked, turning brittle. “What?”

Simmons shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know all the details, but rumour has it the WSC forced Fury out. They said he’d been running missions without approval to undermine SHIELD. That Fury was corrupt.” She bit her lip, and behind her, Fitz stepped up to catch her hand and squeeze.

“It’s all lies. People should have seen that,” he said, his Scottish accent a surprise.

Clint swallowed. “When?” he rasped. “When did this happen?”

“I think it was about the same time you disappeared,” Simmons replied. “Just after the Battle of New York?”

Closing his eyes, Clint sucked in a ragged breath. Natasha had been right. Fury hadn’t left them in the WSC’s hands on purpose, he just hadn’t been able to send help. Clint shouldn’t have doubted.

“Fury hasn’t given up, you know,” Fitz added earnestly. “Are you working with him, too?”

Clint looked up. “What do you mean, working with him  _ too _ ?” he asked, swallowing down the fear, anger and guilt that were choking him. “How the hell did you find me, anyway?”

Simmons immediately looked wary. “We followed you,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “From Fury’s safehouse in St. Louis.”

_ Fuck _ , Clint had been even sloppier than he’d thought. His imprisonment had screwed his instincts up more than he thought, or maybe it was just the alcohol that was still making it difficult to focus on things.

Grimacing, Clint studied Simmons as best as he could. Her shoulders were hunched, matching the tension humming in the air. He sighed. “You wanna start explaining?” he said, and if his voice was harder than he’d intended, it was just because he wanted answers. “And what the hell does this all have to do with Nick Fury?”

Lifting her chin, Simmons looked Clint straight in the eye. He appreciated that. “Fury wanted our help with something. It’s why Fitz and I left the lab and qualified for field work. Well, sort of. Fury never gave us any details.” She paused, swallowing. “We were given orders to help out with a long-term operation, only our mission handler tried to kill Fitz, and I didn’t want to make it easy for him to have another shot, so we had to disappear for a bit. Just until we could find someone, only I didn’t know who to call…”

Well,  _ fuck _ . Clint had thought that after Phil, after the revelations about Fury, nothing would shock him anymore. He’d been wrong. “What?  _ Why _ ?” he said, his stomach churning almost as much as his mind.

“I don’t know,” Simmons admitted quietly, glancing away. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

“We both have,” Fitz added in a whisper. Clint could see the fear in Fitz’s eyes, and the way he’d hunched in on himself. “We were sent in as part of a team running surveillance. It was supposed to be a standard reporting mission, just monitoring some guys running experiments in a big warehouse. But things didn’t go according to plan, so the Agent In Charge called in S.T.R.I.K.E.”

“A few days after that, one of the other techs -- her name was Ramirez -- said she’d found something strange,” Simmons said, taking over the explanation. “Only, she never said what it was, because that’s when everything went crazy. The mobile command center was compromised, and Fitz and I got separated from the rest of the team when we tried to get out.”

She broke off, squeezing his eyes shut, and tendrils of dread curled through Clint’s stomach. Fitz squeezed her hand again as Simmons shakily breathed out. “Agent Rumlow killed Ramirez. He just… shot her.” Her eyes were bright with tears when she raised them to Clint’s. “He saw her face and killed her. And then our handler tried to kill Fitz and we ran.”

Clint cursed, his gaze drifting to the vodka bottle on his bedside table, even though it wouldn’t help. He’d trained and joked with Rumlow, and gone out for beers with at least half of S.T.R.I.K.E. Clint couldn’t wrap his head around the Brock Rumlow he knew doing something so cold and murderous. Sure, Rumlow could be a little arrogant sometimes, but he was a SHIELD agent. They didn’t go around killing the good guys. “Are you sure?” he asked Simmons. “Are you sure you saw Rumlow shooting a  _ SHIELD agent _ ?”

“Yes,” Fitz said fiercely, his eyes narrowing a little. “She wasn’t betraying anyone! She was just trying to do her job, and that… that  _ monster _ shot her!”

“Easy, Fitz,” Simmons said.

“What about Hill?” Clint said. “Bobbi? Sitwell? Some other senior agent? You can’t think they’re involved? Why didn’t you go to them?”

Simmons shot him a glare. “You think we didn’t  _ try _ ?” she snapped. Her eyes were still bright with tears, and she was shaking again. Part of Clint was sorry he’d pushed her, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. “I tried everything I could think of to find someone, but I’m not a field agent. Hiding was not our first choice, you know. Something big is happening and we got scared.”

Guilt curled through Clint’s stomach. “Sorry,” he muttered. He dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “ _ Fuck _ .” He could feel the prickle of tears, and Clint sucked in a breath, even as he drew one leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. He was lost and adrift, with no one to guide him.

Almost unconsciously, his hand came up to press against Phil’s dogtags under his t-shirt. He hadn’t taken them off since Alaska, not willing to lose his last link to Phil. The dogtags weren’t as comforting as Phil’s calm and steady presence, but they were as close as Clint was going to get.

The mattress dipped as Simmons sat down on the bed. Clint tensed, but the faint floral scent of her perfume helped ease the urge to lash out. “Are you all right, Agent Barton?” she asked.

Clint choked out a laugh. “No,” he whispered. “Not even close.”

Fitz let out a slow breath somewhere just behind Simmons. “You haven’t been working with Fury, have you?” he said.

Clint forced his eyes open. “No,” he replied. “The WSC had me locked up in one of their secret prisons. Nat too.”

Paling, Fitz and Simmons stared at him with almost identical expressions of horror. “But why? You and Agent Romanoff saved Manhattan from  _ aliens _ ,” Fitz said. “What… What is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Natasha went to see Hill in DC. I just… I’m not sure I can face this yet, but I’ll call her.”

Nodding, Simmons studied him with dark eyes. She glanced behind her at Fitz, who nodded solemnly back. “Well, wherever you’re going, we’re coming with you,” she said finally. “Please? You’re not the only one who wants to find out what’s going on.”

Clint shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

<*>

_ Phoenix, Arizona _

After his encounter with Pattison in Oklahoma, Clint had kept his drinking to bigger cities and seedy motel rooms. He couldn’t exactly leave Fitz and Jemma alone, anyway, but he tried to stay away from them all the same. They were barely more than kids, and they didn’t deserve to see Clint falling apart. Of course, none of it was enough -- the constant moving, the alcohol, the loneliness. Phil’s face still haunted his nightmares when he wasn’t reliving every blue-tinted shot he’d taken under Loki’s control.

Part of Clint wanted to find Natasha again, find out what was going on. He’d left her a few messages on old burner numbers like she’d requested, and as much as he’d ached to hear her voice, Clint couldn’t quite bring himself to call her when he knew she’d answer. Instead, he’d chickened out and left voice messages to tell her he was still alive, but not ready to come back.

He probably should have checked his own messages, too, because Natasha would have replied, but he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t ready. It was hard enough watching the news and seeing that Stark’s challenge to the Mandarin had ended with his place in Malibu blown to smithereens. Not to mention the showdown on an offshore oil drilling platform in the Gulf of Mexico involving, of all people, the  _ US President _ .

Glancing at the two-thirds empty bottle of vodka sitting on the nightstand, Clint sighed. Drinking wasn’t doing anything other than killing his liver and reminding him of the past. Slipping outside into the cool night, Clint dug the battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Smoking was another of the bad habits from his mercenary days that he’d fallen back on. Not that Phil or Natasha were around to complain about it. Clint closed his eyes and blew out a plume of smoke.  _ Fuck _ . If he was going to go back and find Natasha, he was going to have to find a way to hold it together. Shaking hands, insomnia and being on the verge of tears was not useful in a field agent, no matter how prone field agents were to those things at one point or another.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Clint stared up at the darkened sky. Sweat prickled on his skin and his eyes were gritty from yet another night of disturbed sleep. A glimpse of Phil’s face danced before his eyes, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, as the nightmare tried to reclaim him. “Fuck,” he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, the tears still leaked out, and Clint sucked in a shuddering breath. He missed Phil  _ so much _ . Phil’s kind blue eyes, crinkling at the corners as he smiled, were seared into his memories, along with the way Phil took his coffee and how he could never decide what kind of donuts he wanted. Clint had spent years memorizing everything he could about his handler and friend, locking every small detail about the man underneath Agent Coulson into a corner of his mind, hoarding them like treasure.

He’d thought they would be enough, that he could console himself with Phil’s friendship even if they could never have anything else, but now that Phil was gone he was drowning and he couldn’t save himself.’

Sighing heavily, Clint stubbed out his cigarette and slipped back into the motel room.

“Want to talk about it?” Simmons asked quietly from the other side of the room. She and Fitz had curled up on the other bed, but now she was sitting up, her face pale in the dim light coming from her phone.

Clint sighed, but he didn’t do more than glance at Simmons from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he said, moving over to the bed he’d claimed and sat down.

Simmons was silent for a beat, before her soft footsteps approached the bed. He had no idea if Fitz was awake too, but right now he didn’t care. “I don’t know exactly what you’re going through,” Simmons began. “I’ve only been outside the lab for one mission, and I’ve already told you how that ended. But… well, everyone in SHIELD knows what happened in New York.” She paused to take a breath. “It wasn’t your fault. What happened with Loki.”

Snorting, Clint glanced at her. Everyone could say what they liked -- Loki might have mind-whammied him, but it was still Clint’s fingers on the string, Clint’s arrows that had killed. He sighed. “I wasn’t dreaming about Loki,” he said before Simmons could offer any more kind words. Clint wasn’t in the mood for sympathy.

“Oh,” Simmons said, but she didn’t seem to have the courage to ask about what Clint had been dreaming about instead.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed bitterly.

Simmons let out a breath, as if she had to brace himself for what she had to say next. “Maybe we could find some sleeping pills? I’m no therapist, but you have to sleep for more than two hours a night. A lack of decent sleep inhibits reaction time as well as proper brain function.”

“No.” Clint’s voice was hard and sharp, his hands fisting in the sheets. Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his face again. “Sorry,” he told Simmons. “But no drugs. I don’t want anything messing with my head.” That, and even nightmares of Phil were better than living without him.

When Clint glanced up, Simmons offered him a sad smile. “Okay,” she said. “No sleeping pills.”

Clint swallowed. “Thanks.”

Simmons nodded. She didn’t offer anything else, just climbed back into the single bed on the other side of their motel room, and rolled over so that Clint could have what little privacy he could. Clint was grateful for it, but it wouldn’t make much difference. He wouldn’t sleep now, not with Phil’s memory so fresh in his mind. Instead, he slid Phil’s dogtags out from under his t-shirt, rubbing his thumb over the raised letters of Phil’s name and waited for dawn to come.

<*>

_ Sterling, Colorado _

Two days later, Clint and his two new travelling companions found themselves outside Sterling, Colorado. Driving around the entire state of Oklahoma because that’s where he’d been when Pattison had approached him at the bar might have been overkill, but Clint had time. The first thing Clint had done after they’d found a motel was dump his bag and head out to find a bar, ignoring Simmons’ protests.

He’d found one too. It was a cheap dive of a place, but the bartender kept the vodka flowing and no one bothered Clint. Getting drunk again wasn’t the smartest decision Clint had ever made, but he was hoping the large amounts of alcohol would help him sleep a little. Simmons was starting to shoot him worried glances when she thought Clint wasn’t looking.

With a sigh, Clint threw back his last shot, and climbed to his feet, tossing a crumpled twenty on the bar to cover the last of his bill. He stumbled a little as he stepped forward, but Clint shook it off. He was fine. He’d been more drunk in Minsk and he’d managed to fight off three mercenaries without dying. Making his way back to the motel was nothing. 

He blinked as a boot scuffed against the concrete somewhere behind him.  _ Shit _ . Someone was following him. They’d waited until Clint had ducked down an alley, too, which meant they were bad news. Pretending to be more drunk than he was, Clint stumbled and brought one of his hands up to grab one of the knives from inside his jacket as he braced his other against the alley wall. Everything was silent behind him, which was bad. Quiet meant professional, and that meant Clint was in trouble.

Letting out a slow breath, Clint held his ground. He wasn’t sure exactly where his attackers were, so he waited for them to make the first move. Two men stepped out of the shadows, broad and well-muscled, and dressed in black. Clint didn’t recognize either of them, which didn’t necessarily mean much, but at least it wasn’t someone from SHIELD after him. “Come out to play, assholes?” Clint said, because he wasn’t going to go down without a quip or two.

“We came to give you a final chance,” one of the men said, stepping forward into the dim light from the moon. “You should really think about changing employers, Hawkeye.”

“Oh, I should, huh?” Clint said, but his blood froze, his mind going back to the bar in Broken Arrow.  _ Fuck _ , those assholes were still tracking him.

But, how?

Swallowing, Clint squashed down the urge to close his eyes and curse. That bastard Pattison probably put a tracker on him and Clint had been too  _ stupid _ to check. He’d have to burn his clothes and boots as soon as he got out of there.

Pasting a cocky expression on his face, Clint smirked at the men following him. “Why do you all have such a hard on for me to work for you?” he asked, because maybe he could distract them. It was worth a try, anyway.

The man shrugged. “A man of your particular talents can be… useful.”

Ice washed over Clint. He had his share of being someone’s mindless tool and he wasn’t ever going back there. “No, thanks,” he snarled. “I’m not interested in joining your secret boy band.”

“I would caution you, Hawkeye,” the man said. “That is not a wise decision.”

“I don’t care,” Clint growled in a low voice.

The first man sneered, surging in and throwing a punch straight at Clint’s head. Clint dodged, whipping out the knife from his pocket and slashing. The man let out a curse as the knife cut into his forearm and Clint grinned. “Not such an easy target, huh?” he said.

Snarling, the man glared at Clint. Straightening up to his full height, Clint kept his weight balanced evenly on his feet, ducking and twisting as the second man jumped out of the shadows to Clint’s left. Clint slammed his fist into the goon’s stomach, and the man let out a gasp as Clint pivoted on his heel. Twisting again, Clint ruthlessly snapped the man’s arm and slammed him headfirst into the nearby alley wall. The goon slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Glancing up, Clint’s blood ran cold when he found the first man pointing a gun straight at his head. “You should have taken the offer, Hawkeye,” he snarled.

Swallowing, Clint raised his hands, dropping his knife. Instead of just shooting, Asshole Number Two’s first punch was vicious. Clint’s head snapped to the side, blood filling his mouth as his head rang.  _ Oh, that was going to hurt tomorrow. _ Gritting his teeth against the pain, Clint kept his eyes on the gun and readied himself to move.

Letting his growing rage flow into his movements, Clint grabbed the Asshole’s wrist, pivoting sharply away from the barrel. He twisted as he did, until the man’s arm snapped and his shoulder popped. Then, as the Asshole whimpered in pain, Clint wrapped his arms tightly around the man’s throat until he sagged into unconsciousness.

Clint let the body drop to the ground, before turning his head to the side and spitting out some of the blood pooling in his mouth. His lip throbbed in time with his head, but he’d had worse injuries. Hell, his thigh still stung from the damn bullet graze he’d gotten while escaping from the facility in Alaska.

Slipping the gun from Asshole’s lax hand, Clint methodically searched both bodies for anything useful, and made sure to pick up the knife he dropped. There wasn’t much aside from the Glock and some badly forged IDs in the men’s wallets, but Clint found a small, round metal medallion tucked in behind Asshole’s clearly fake driver’s license. He turned it over in his hands, trying to figure out what it was in the dim light of the alley. A picture had been etched onto one side, looking almost like a skull and tentacles, and Clint’s blood froze.

He knew that image. It belonged to  _ Hydra. _

Well,  _ fuck _ .

<*>


	9. Nick

_ Washington DC, USA _

Nick Fury waited until Agent 13 walked all the way down the street before he got out of the car. Judging by the scrubs underneath her jacket, Sharon Carter was undercover as a nurse again. Maria had already briefed him about Carter’s purpose -- she was there to watch Captain Rogers and report back to elements within SHIELD. And Maria, who had already ordered Carter to extend her duties to protecting Rogers if it came to that. Maria was going to make an impressive Director one day.

“Are you sure you want to go in alone?” Maria asked. She’d climbed out of the car when Nick had, but was still standing beside the half open driver’s door, peering at Nick over the roof of the car.

“I’ll be fine, Agent Hill,” Nick said dryly. “I’m not completely useless on my own.”

Maria sent him a flat look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said. “Besides, it’s not as if Rogers doesn’t know that I’m involved.”

Nick sighed. “It’s not Rogers I’m worried about,” he admitted, glancing at Maria. “You have enough scrutiny on you already. You don’t need to add to that by running around with me all night.”

Sighing, Maria nodded. “Just don’t forget, I might not  _ need _ to, but I’m also your friend, Nick. I want to protect SHIELD as much as you do.”

“I won’t forget,” Nick said quietly, because it was impossible to forget how much Maria had done for him.

Maria shut the door and walked over to where Nick was standing, glancing over the dark street around them. “And Coulson? How’s he doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Getting Phil and Skye to head to the Providence Base had been a struggle, but Nick had eventually won. Mostly because Phil acknowledged he probably wasn’t ready to be back in the field yet, although the threat of Melinda May had also helped. Nick hadn’t told Phil that Melinda hadn’t wanted Nick to head to New York City either, but he fully expected Phil to be grumbling about that when he returned to Ontario.

“Truthfully?” Nick said. “Dealing with things better than I expected.” He let out a breath. “Of course, it could all be a front. That bastard plays his cards close to his chest, but I don’t think so.”

“I’m glad,” Maria said. “And not just because I think we’re going to need him before this is all over.” She reached out to rest her hand comfortingly on Nick’s arm. “Thank you. I didn’t say that earlier. For… everything.”

Nick swallowed. Maria was one of the few people who’d seen what Nick had gone through to bring Phil back to life. He regretted burdening her with those secrets, but he hadn’t been sure he could carry them alone. He glanced at her and nodded. “It’s worth it,” he said quietly. He glanced up at Captain Rogers’ building, and then back at Maria. “Be careful. Whatever we’re caught up in, it’s a lot bigger than we feared. So watch your back -- and Jasper’s.”

Maria nodded. “You too.”

<*>

The door to Rogers’ apartment opened as Nick walked up, meaning Maria must have sent word. Through the small crack between the door and its frame, Nick caught a glimpse of a green eye. His breath caught, the weight of guilt suddenly pressing on his lungs and making it hard to breathe. “Hello, Natasha,” he said as steadily as he could manage with his heart tripping in his chest.

“Nick,” Natasha said levelly, opening the door wider.

Nick had worn his eyepatch for the meeting because he hated how the sunglasses dimmed his vision at night. He was glad for that now as he studied Natasha for the first time in three and a half months. Her skin was paler than it had been and she’d lost weight, but what had Nick’s stomach clenching the most was how  _ small _ she looked. It was more than just having borrowed some of Captain Rogers’ clothes. Natasha had withdrawn into herself. Nick swallowed heavily. That was on him.

“You’d better come in,” Natasha said, stepping to the side.

Nick nodded wordlessly. He noted Rogers, standing nearby holding his shield. Nick’s stomach clenched again. He was grateful Rogers was watching Natasha’s back, but it just reinforced how much Nick had failed her.

“Stop it,” Natasha said, shutting the door. “You can’t control everything, Nick.”

“Maybe not,” Nick conceded, watching Natasha as she walked around to stand in front of him. “But I could have --  _ should _ have -- looked harder for you.”

Rogers nodded, his gaze steely and his jaw tense. “Maybe you should have,” he said.

Natasha turned to Rogers, her eyebrows raised. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Rogers,” she drawled. She turned back to Nick, her expression softening. “You had other things to worry about, Nick. I can take care of myself.”

The corner of Nick’s mouth curved upwards. “I know you can,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Closing her eyes, Natasha was silent for a moment. When she blinked them open again, her gaze was suspiciously bright. Nick was helpless to stop himself stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. Natasha was strong, and seeing her vulnerable always sent a dagger through Nick’s heart. Natasha clung back, and she buried her face in his chest as she drew in a shuddering breath. Nick kept a comforting hand on her back and tried to give Natasha what she needed.

Natasha finally stepped back, nodding once. “What’s the plan, Boss?” she asked.

“That’s it?” Rogers said, his jaw flexing like he was gritting his teeth. “You just forgive him?”

Natasha straightened her shoulders, something hardening deep in her eyes as she turned to Rogers. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s it. I  _ know _ Nick Fury. Leaving me in the WSC’s hands isn’t something he’d do given a choice.” She arched an eyebrow. “Peggy Carter wouldn’t have recruited him if she hadn’t seen something in him.”

Rogers glanced away, swallowing. “Peggy recruited you to SHIELD?” he asked, his voice suddenly young and lost.

“Yes,” Nick said, thinking of the warm, strong woman who’d taken none of his excuses and shown him that he could be more than an old, injured soldier. “Peggy was the one who helped me become Director.” Nick cleared his throat. Dwelling in memories wouldn't help him -- or Rogers. “I’m not just here to see Natasha.”

“You’re here to ask us to help you,” Rogers interrupted.

“No,” Nick said. “I’m here to ask how far you’re willing to go to stop innocent people from getting hurt.”

Rogers huffed, but a layer of tension released from his shoulders. “I let a German scientist experiment on me so I could fight a war,” he said. “And then I helped fight off a bunch of aliens trying to enslave the world. So, you know. I think you already have your answer.”

Nick nodded, swallowing down the urge to smile. He’d always believed in heroes. He’d seen what they were capable of, and Rogers’ words both reassured him and gave him hope. “I do,” he agreed. He gestured towards the couch. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

At Rogers’ nod, Nick walked over and took a seat on the corner of the couch. To his surprise, Natasha followed him and took a seat in the other corner, stretching her feet out to rest against his thigh. Rogers sat down in the armchair facing Nick, his shield still within arm’s reach.

“I’m not sure how much Maria has told you,” Nick began. “But the situation is a lot more serious than we thought. This goes beyond the World Security Council grabbing tighter control of SHIELD, or a political play between councilmen.” He paused, swallowing. “I can’t actually see what’s going on. All I know is that it’s big, and it’s the kind of dangerous that has the power to change  _ everything _ .”

At his admission, Natasha leaned forward, her eyes sharp. “This has to do with whatever is on that drive you asked Bobbi to get,” she said. “And the SHIELD operations that weren’t adding up. You think someone is working against SHIELD from the inside?”

“You mean, aside from the people working for the WSC to imprison you and remove Fury as Director?” Rogers said dryly.

“Yes,” Nick said gravely. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

Natasha let out a slow breath. “So what do we do about it?” she asked.

Eyebrows raised, Nick looked at her. “We find out what’s in the classified information Bobbi stole,” he said, which had to be the answer Natasha was expecting.

“That won’t be easy,” Natasha said. “If it’s as dangerous as you think it is, whoever is behind this will be watching for us.”

Nick nodded. “They will,” he agreed. “But you’ll have a better chance without me. There are too many people actively looking for me right now.”

Her mouth tilting up, Natasha glanced at Rogers. “I think we can handle it. Captain?”

Rogers nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ve got another two days before I have to report back to SHIELD, but I can’t guarantee they won’t notice something before then.”

“Then we’ll just have to move fast,” Natasha said.

Nick let out a breath. They were taking a big risk, but if anyone could manage to find out what was on that drive, it was Natasha and Rogers. If Nick had still been Director of SHIELD, he probably would have paired them up on missions. “Let me know when you’ve decoded the information,” Nick said. He pushed himself to his feet. “And watch your back.” He waved Rogers back into his seat when the Captain tried to get up. “I can see myself out.”

Natasha walked him to the door, stopping him before he could leave with a hand on his arm. “Nick,” she said in a low voice, keeping her back towards the inside of the apartment. “I need to ask. Coulson… He’s still alive?”

Nick sucked in a slow breath, his stomach cramping as images flashed through his mind. “Not still,” he said roughly. “He died. I just… I took a risk. There was a program I was developing as backup in case the Avengers went ahead and one of you got hurt.” He blinked, glancing away for a second. “It wasn’t pretty. Please don’t ask me how, but it brought him back.”

Natasha’s eyes were bright with tears. “Is he okay?” she asked.

“He’s… dealing with everything,” Nick told her. “I’ll take you to see him after you’ve decoded the drive.” He sent her the beginnings of a smirk. “I might have built myself a secret base no one knows about.”

Nodding, Natasha gave him a small, soft smile. “Thank you,” she said.

“Good luck," Nick replied. “And be careful. You need to keep both eyes open.”

Natasha raised her chin, her expression smoothing out as the Black Widow came to the fore. “You too, Nick,” she said. “We’ve got work to do.”

<*>

As Nick stepped out into the cool night air, he let out a breath. Seeing that Natasha was whole, and safe -- if only for the moment -- eased one of the steel bands squeezing his heart. Clint might have still been in the wind, but Barton had never been able to stay apart from Natasha for long. Nick had every faith that Clint would turn up again, too.

His burner phone buzzed in his pocket, and Nick pulled it out, smiling slightly when he saw Melinda’s number from the base on the screen. “Hey, Mel,” he greeted quietly.

“How did it go?” Melinda asked, a trace of irritation threading through her voice.

“Good,” Nick said. “Natasha’s safe, and Rogers is going to help. What about you? What’s wrong?”

“Garrett,” Melinda said with a sigh. “I know he’s one of your agents, but his ego makes me want to punch him in the face.”

Nick chuckled, because he wasn’t unfamiliar with that sensation. “He’ll be gone soon,” he said. “As soon as we get a better picture of what’s going on, we’ll be able to start dealing with things instead of just reacting.”

“I hope you’re right,” Melinda said.

Nick had a fleeting wish that he could see Melinda’s face. She rarely gave anything away that she didn’t want people to see, but there was something calming in being able to watch the wry humour flickering behind her steady stoicism. “So do I,” he admitted. “How’s everything else on your end?”

“Fine,” Melinda replied. Of course, things could be second away from burning down and Melinda would probably still answer ‘fine’ because she was dealing with it, but she didn’t sound stressed. “Phil’s new duckling is almost unbearably curious. If she keeps following me around, I’m going to assign her a time on the training mats.”

Nick smiled. While Phil was infamous for bringing in strays and giving people second chances, Melinda had her own soft spot. “Skye could do worse than be trained by you,” he said.

Melinda hummed in reply.

“Is there anything else I should be aware of?” Nick asked.

Melinda huffed. “Did you want a debrief or a chat?” she said bluntly.

Nick bit back a wince. He’d been prolonging the conversation, reluctant to stop talking to Melinda, but that didn’t mean she felt the same. They might have been friends, but Nick was well aware his deeper feelings weren’t reciprocated. “Of course. Sorry,” he said.

“Nick,” Melinda broke in, her voice softening as the exasperation leaked through. “You know I hate small talk. When you get back, we’ll go get coffee. You can listen to all of the various ways Phil has irritated me between now and then. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nick agreed.

“Good,” Melinda said. “Is there anything else?”

Nick let out a breath. “Yes,” he said. “I’m going to go and see Pierce. I think he’ll help us, particularly if we bring him whatever is on that drive that Bobbi copied.”

“You think it’s that big?” Melinda said.

“Well, it can’t hurt to have Pierce on our side,” Nick said dryly.

Melinda hummed again, because as much as she respected Pierce as Secretary of SHIELD, she considered him more a politician than an agent. “Watch your back,” she warned.

“I will,” Nick said, and hung up.

He had places to be.

<*>

_ The Triskelion, Washington DC _

The parking garage underneath the  _ Triskelion _ was surprisingly easy to get into for a SHIELD facility. Or perhaps Nick just knew too many of its secrets. Either way, he avoided the cameras and managed to find a shadowy hiding place near Pierce’s parked car. Nick didn’t have to wait long -- Pierce was a creature of habit, no matter how many times Nick had told him it wasn’t safe. Every night, he left his office at eight. It was almost like clockwork. Pierce was talking on the phone as he walked out of the elevator, his footsteps echoing as he crossed towards his car.

He hesitated when Nick stepped out of his hiding place. “Honey, I’ll have to call you back,” he said, and hung up the phone. “Nick, this is a surprise.”

“Not a bad one, I hope,” Nick replied.

Pierce glanced around, digging out his keys and walking up to his car door. Nick had taken care to stay out of camera range, but one was firmly fixed on Pierce. “What are you doing here?” Pierce asked. “SHIELD is hardly a safe place for you these days.”

“I’m here to ask a favour,” Nick said.

Pierce smiled wryly. “I thought you might,” he replied. “I’m touched you came to me, even though you have Iron Man on speed dial now. Or is he not taking your calls?”

Nick snorted. There was no question that Stark would help if innocent people were in danger, but Stark was far less likely to do a personal favour for Nick. “I need someone the World Security Council will listen to,” he admitted. “If I bring you information on a threat can you delay the launch of Project Insight?”

“Delay?” Pierce said, glancing at Nick. “That’s not a favour. That’s a subcommittee hearing.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “What kind of threat are we talking about?”

Nick blew out a breath. “I’m not entirely sure yet, but it’s big.”

“Is it that dangerous?” Pierce said. He sighed. “Okay. You bring me information and I’ll delay the project.” He smiled wryly. “We can’t meet here again, though. Come by my house tomorrow night, and bring the information. We’ll talk about it then.”

“Thanks,” Nick said. Relief rushed through him, a weight lifting off his shoulders.

“What else are old friends for?” Pierce said.

With a final nod, he climbed into his car. Nick watched in silence as Pierce drove off.

<*>

_ Unknown safehouse, Washington DC _

Nick sighed, tilting his face up into the warm spray of the shower. After his meeting with Pierce, Nick had retreated to a safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The place was one of his, not SHIELD’s, and he was just lucky he’d set it up so that there was actually running water. By the time he’d let himself in, all Nick had wanted was a hot shower and about eight hours sleep. He was exhausted, but more than that, the weight of guilt and fear was grinding him down.

Less than six months ago, he’d been Director of SHIELD, and able to do something about threats to the planet. Now, he was a wanted man. Nick cared less for himself, and more for the people who’d relied on him. People like Clint and Natasha, who had been left at the WSC’s mercy because without SHIELD’s resources, Nick hadn’t been able to find them before they’d escaped. People like Maria and Jasper, who were trying to uncover a conspiracy with little help and less backup.

Nick ran a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure when things had gotten so messy, but Nick was struggling to find a way out. Usually, he might not be able to see all the pieces on the board, but he knew what game he was playing. This time, Nick felt blind. He couldn’t even tell who he was fighting.

The sound of a door opening snapped Nick out of his thoughts. He couldn’t hear much over the sound of the shower, but he thought there were two sets of footsteps entering the bedroom. Nick reached for the gun he’d left just outside the shower and the towel it was sitting on. No one had started shooting yet, and Nick had never really liked confronting intruders naked. Creeping silently to the bathroom door, Nick opened it a crack and let out a soft sigh of relief when he saw Natasha sitting on the bed and Rogers hovering by the bedroom door.

Turning off the shower, Nick dried off quickly and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He hesitated in front of the mirror, before adding his eye patch. Natasha had seen him without it, but Nick had never liked showing his vulnerabilities, no matter how much he’d learned to work around them.

“You could have knocked,” he drawled as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Natasha shrugged. “We could have,” she agreed. Her gaze flickered over Nick’s chest. It wasn’t sexual -- she was checking for any injuries Nick might have accumulated. Nick let her, mostly because he had a bad habit of hiding it when he got hurt.

“So how did it go?” Nick asked, crossing to his bag to grab a fresh t-shirt.

“Well, it could have been worse,” Rogers said dryly.

Nick glanced at him, both eyebrows raised as he pulled on his t-shirt.

“I didn’t break the encryption,” Natasha explained. “The drive was protected by some sort of AI. It kept rewriting my commands, and I couldn’t overwrite it.”

“That wasn’t all,” Rogers added grimly. “S.T.R.I.K.E. showed up less than ten minutes after we plugged in that thing. Standard tac-team. They were definitely looking for us.”

Nick bit back a curse. “Well, that makes things more complicated,” he said. He glanced at Natasha. “Did you get any information off the drive at all?”

Natasha nodded. “I used a tracer program and traced the source back to a set of coordinates,” she replied. “In New Jersey.”

Rogers nodded. “It’s the old military base where I was trained,” he said quietly. “Before the serum.”

Nick frowned. “Camp Lehigh,” he said. “It might be a good place to look for answers. Whatever is going on is linked directly to SHIELD.”

“We’re heading there now,” Rogers said. “Are you coming?”

“Unfortunately, Captain, I’m not a supersoldier,” Nick said, his mouth curving up into a wry smile before it faded. “I need sleep, and probably a decent meal before I can go anywhere.”

As much as that was the truth, a part of Nick still burned to go with them. He  _ needed _ to find out what was going on, but he needed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep more. He was too exhausted to be much use to anybody.

“You should still come,” Natasha said in a low voice. She studied his face for a moment, and Nick didn’t bother to hide how worn he was. Nodding once, Natasha climbed to her feet and reached into her jacket to pull out a scrap of paper. She put it on the dresser by the door and tapped it with her finger. “Just think about it.”

“I will,” Nick told her.

Natasha smiled and nodded again. Then, she and Rogers quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Nick to his suddenly spinning thoughts.

<*>

_ Camp Lehigh, New Jersey _

In the end, Nick only managed a couple of hours sleep before he found himself in a car driving towards New Jersey. Locating the coordinates Natasha had left wasn’t hard, and it was even easier to slip inside the base using the same path Natasha and Rogers must have taken. Nick had dressed for the trip in dark cargos and a hoodie under a dark jacket, the clothes helping him blend into the evening shadows. The old base was eerily quiet and a shiver of premonition slid down Nick’s spine. All his instincts were warning him that something bad was about to happen.

There was no sign of where Natasha or Rogers had gone, and Nick frowned. There wasn’t any sign of anyone else, either, let alone the origin of the files on the flash drive. Something about this was very wrong.  Short of searching the entire base, Nick wasn’t sure where to look. Instead, he dug out his burner phone and dialled a number from memory. “Yes?” Melinda’s tired voice answered.

“I need you to do me a favour,” Nick said, aware that he probably didn’t have much time.

“What kind of favour?” Melinda asked, her voice sharpening.

Nick sighed softly. “I’ll send you some coordinates,” he said. “I need you to do a thermal scan of an old SSR base, see if there’s anyone here and if there’s been any recent activity.”

Melinda snorted. “I don’t know why you’re asking me,” she said. “That kind of thing is hardly my specialty.” She hummed. “I’ll go wake Phil. See if he can’t ask Skye…”

One minute Nick had been creeping silently through the dark SSR base, the next, the world erupted all around him. Nick was flung backwards by a shockwave, his vision coming in flashes as his ears echoed with ringing silence. He ended up sprawled on the ground, showered in splinters of wood, rubble and dust.

As the world spun, Nick inched his fingers across the ground in search of the gun he’d dropped, the world fading in and out with his grasp on consciousness. Coughing at the traces of acrid smoke in the air, Nick squinted at the world around him as his fingers brushed the grip of his gun. His vision faded dangerously again, but Nick gritted his teeth against the darkness and stubbornly hung onto consciousness.

There were only a few explanations for what had just happened, and unfortunately Nick was intensely familiar with most of them. Glancing around, he noticed that one of the buildings had completely destroyed, leaving behind a smoking wreck, flames licking at the splintered wood. Nick’s gut clenched as icy fear spiked through his heart. He could only pray Natasha and Rogers had made it out before the building had been destroyed.

“...Nick?  _ Nick _ ?”

Slowly, the ringing in his ears faded enough that Nick could hear Melinda’s increasingly frantic voice over the crackling phone. He coughed, his chest burning as acrid smoke filled his lungs. “I’m here,” he croaked.

He forced himself to his feet, his gun still gripped tightly in one hand. He rubbed his eye in an effort to push back the pounding in his head and attempted to gain his bearings.  _ Pull it together _ , he urged himself. Reaching up, Nick’s fingers slid through the warm, sticky blood at his temple as nausea churned through his stomach. Like the pain, he pushed it to the back of his mind and warned himself to  _ focus _ .

“What happened?” Melinda demanded.

Nick coughed again, his throat raw. He carefully tested his limbs, but there were no shooting pains, just dull throbbing. He probably hadn’t broken anything. “My guess is a short-range missile,” he ground out. He’d survived enough of them during his time in the Rangers to never forget the feeling.

“Fuck,” Melinda swore. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Nick said, cutting her off. Right now he needed to focus on finding Natasha and Rogers and getting out of there. He tightened his grip on his gun, the familiar weight and feel of the weapon anchoring him. “I’ll call you back soon, but I have to go.”

“You’d better,” Melinda warned, her voice trembling faintly.

“I will,” Nick promised before he hung up.

Even on an abandoned base in New Jersey, someone was likely to have seen the explosion. Emergency services were probably already on the way, not to mention a recovery team working for whoever had sent that missile. He needed to move.

Creeping as quickly as he dared, Nick slipped through the shadows towards the destroyed building. He spotted movement when he got closer, and Nick crouched down behind a pile of debris and raised his gun, steeling himself for a fight. Just as a tall figure kicked away a burning timber, Nick’s vision started to blur.  _ Not now _ . His head throbbing, Nick squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before blinking rapidly a few times to clear it. Blowing out a deep breath, he glanced up again, relief making him dizzy when he recognized Captain Roger’s familiar figure silhouetted against the fires behind him.

Nick’s stomach clenched again at how Rogers was cradling Natasha’s still body in his arms, and for a moment, he had to close his eyes and just breathe. Straightening his shoulders, Nick braced himself for what he’d find and carefully stood up. Rogers jerked his head up, one of his hands moving towards his shield, but he relaxed when he saw it was Nick.

“Director,” he said in a rough voice.

“Is she okay?” Nick asked, nodding towards Natasha’s unconscious body.

Rogers didn’t reply, instead gently laying Natasha down on the ground. Just like Rogers, she was covered in a layer of dust, and there was a trail of blood near her hairline, but otherwise she looked uninjured. “She’ll be fine,” Rogers said finally. “She just took a knock to the head.”

“What happened in there?” Nick said. “Did you find out who’s behind this?”

Rogers swallowed, glancing away. “Yeah,” he said. “We found out.”

Nick was distracted from demanding answers when Natasha gave a faint groan and opened her eyes. “What truck fell on me?” she asked dryly, her voice rough.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Nick attempted to smile. “The short-range explosive kind,” he told her. He glanced up, instinct warning him to move. “We should get out of here.”

Rogers nodded, offering a hand to pull Natasha to her feet. Natasha groaned, muttering a few curses in Russian under her breath, before glancing at Nick. He watched her carefully, making sure she wasn’t hurt worse than they thought. “You good?” he asked.

Natasha closed her eyes and let out a slow breath before opening them again and giving a curt nod. “Yes. Let’s go.”

<*>

Thankfully, they made it to where Nick had hidden his car with little trouble. The sedan had seen better days, but it was out of the way and far enough away from the smoking debris of the base that no one would connect them. “So,” Nick said quietly, scanning the darkness around them, before fixing Rogers with a sharp glare. “Do you want to explain what just happened?”

“Not really,” Rogers replied. He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. For a moment, he looked like the lost, twenty-five year old kid he almost was, rather than the soldier the world had needed him to be.

“It was Arnim Zola,” Natasha said, breaking the silence. Her voice was level, betraying nothing of what she was feeling. “Or rather, a version of him.”

Nick blinked, nausea starting to churn through his stomach. “Arnim Zola the former Hydra scientist?” he said. “ _ That _ Arnim Zola? Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

“Yes,” Rogers said flatly. “He is. Only it turns out Hydra isn’t that easy to kill after all.”

“He knew us,” Natasha said softly. “I thought it was a recording, but it  _ knew _ us.” She glanced up at Nick, her green eyes bleak. Then she seemed to shake herself, her face smoothing out. “Operation Paperclip recruited scientists of strategic value after World War Two, and Zola was one of them. SHIELD thought he could be useful. Except, he didn’t just help SHIELD.” Her eyes cut to Nick’s. “He was helping Hydra, too.”

Nick swallowed, a chill sliding down his spine and splintering outwards, his stomach lurching with the implications of what Natasha was saying. Operation Paperclip had been before his time, but he remembered the mutterings. His heart pounded against his ribs, and Nick wanted to clap his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to Natasha’s words as they destroyed the foundations of his world.

“Hydra has been inside SHIELD all along,” Natasha said. Her breath hitched, her voice cracking. “Ever since SHIELD was founded, it was there. Changing history when it wanted to through assassination and chaos. Killing anyone in their way.”

_ No _ .

It wasn’t  _ possible _ .

Natasha’s grief behind her cracking mask assured Nick it was. That it was  _ true _ .

“We thought Hydra died out with the Red Skull,” Rogers said, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “But they didn’t. They’re still here.” He fixed Nick with a furious glare, his anger scorching Nick’s skin. “Tell me you didn’t know about this.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat before a blinding rush of anger surged up, filling his chest with fire and burning the air in his lungs. “Know about  _ what _ exactly, Captain?” he snarled, his voice clipped and cold. “Know that  _ Hydra _ was growing inside the organization I’ve given my life to? That I’ve probably willingly followed orders given to me by the terrorists I’ve sworn to stop?” He clenched his hand into a fist, barely managing to stop himself stepping forward. “Or that I’d callously sacrifice good people to keep it a secret to further my own ends? Is that what you think?”

Natasha stopped him with a hand on his chest. “If they’ve been inside SHIELD the whole time, then we’ve all followed Hydra’s orders,” she said quietly.

As suddenly as it had come, Nick’s anger left him. He glanced at Natasha and nodded. One of the things he’d promised Natasha when she’d come to SHIELD was a place where she’d know where her orders were coming from, only he hadn’t been able to provide that at all, had he?

“And Zola?” he asked. “I thought he was supposed to be dead?”

Natasha shrugged. “He is and he isn’t,” she said. “In 1972, he received a terminal diagnosis and recorded his… mind in data banks. That building  _ was _ Zola, or at least a version of him. He was the AI I couldn’t crack.”

Nick snorted. An icy numbness was spreading through his mind, brought on by the shock. His mind almost couldn’t process what was happening, just how much of his world had been destroyed in mere minutes.

Natasha let out a breath. “There’s more, Nick,” she said. “Zola talked about Hydra starting a new world order. How humanity was ready to sacrifice freedom for security.” She glanced away for a second, her eyes bright. “Hydra is going to use Project Insight. Zola wrote an algorithm to manipulate it somehow, turn it against SHIELD. We have to stop them.”

Nick swallowed heavily. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice rough. “Of course.” He blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. Now was not the time to fall apart. “I need to warn Maria and Secretary Pierce. I already asked Pierce to try and delay Project Insight, but he needs to know this so we can shut it down for good.”

Rogers nodded. “Will he help us?”

“If I ask him, he will,” Nick replied. “He owes me a favour or two.” He glanced between Rogers and Natasha. “You should both probably lie low for a few days.”

Rogers sent him a grim smile. “I know a place we can go,” he said.

Letting out a breath, Nick nodded. It was a start.

<*>

After seeing Rogers and Natasha off on their way back to DC, Nick slid into the dark of the car and just  _ breathed _ for a moment. His hands were shaking so bad he had to grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white.

Hydra.

_ Fuck _ .

Out of all the outcomes Nick had tried to foresee and plan for, this one hadn’t even been in the same universe as his list. Grief, guilt and nausea were still trying to claw their way out of his chest, burning at the back of his throat like the scream he was swallowing down. His heart was still pounding against his ribs, shock and adrenaline making his whole body tremble.

Nick almost jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out, his heart still thumping in his chest. “Hello?” he answered, too shaken to recognize the number on the screen.

“ _ ¡Hay que joderse! _ ” Jasper hissed.

Ice stabbed through Nick’s chest. Jasper only lapsed into Spanish when things were  _ really _ going to shit. “Jasper?” he rasped.

“I don’t have much time to talk, so just listen,” Jasper said. “Please.” He let out a shuddering breath that echoed harshly over the phone. “I haven’t had a chance to tell Maria, I… Fuck, sir… I infiltrated the group we found inside SHIELD. It’s  _ Hydra _ . Fucking  _ Hydra _ is inside SHIELD.”

“I know,” Nick whispered hoarsely. “I just found out.”

“ _ How _ ?” Jasper demanded.

“Armin Zola is still alive,” Nick said. “Well, in a way. He’s been helping guide Hydra agents inside SHIELD since World War Two.”

_ Fuck _ . Saying it out loud made it sound  _ real _ , like maybe Nick was starting to believe it. He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand over his face as his breath echoed harshly around him.

“Does that mean you know about Pierce?” Jasper said.

Nick froze, ice stabbing through him again. “Alexander Pierce?” he said. “The Secretary of SHIELD?”

“He’s the leader of the Hydra double agents inside SHIELD,” Jasper said, his voice cracking.

“God grant me strength,” Nick breathed, the prayer falling from his lips almost without thought. He hadn’t prayed since he was a boy and his grandmother had last taken him to church, but the familiar words helped ground him. The sick agony of betrayal was like a twisting knife in his heart.

“It gets worse,” Jasper said. He cut his words off sharply with a huff of breath, like Jasper was swallowing down the same hysterical laughter Nick could feel bubbling up in his own throat. “The Winter Soldier is  _ real _ . You and Romanoff were right.” Jasper drew in a shaking breath. “He has orders to kill you, sir. He won’t hesitate and he won’t stop. You need to find somewhere to hide and you need to do it now.”

Nick let out a shaky breath. “What about you?” he asked.

Jasper was silent for a beat. “I need to stay,” he said, his flat voice not quite covering the fear and bitterness underneath. “They have plans for Project Insight. They’re going to use it to target potential threats to their new world order. I have to stop them.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get out,” Nick said quietly. Something deep in his chest clenched at the risk Jasper was taken, even as Nick was humbled by Jasper’s sheer courage to face down Hydra. “If they catch you, you’re dead. No second chances, no escape.”

“I know,” Jasper replied. “But if we’re going to stop them, you’re going to need information and to do that, I need to stay where I am.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. Jasper was right, but that didn’t stop the urge clawing up from his stomach for Nick to swoop in and hide Jasper somewhere safe. The twisting instinct was more than just friendship, or Nick’s need to look out for his people, but Nick didn’t dare give the feeling a name. Not now.

“Just be careful, Jasper,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Jasper said. “You too.”

<*>


	10. Phil

_ Providence Base, Ontario _

Phil stared at the Starktab in his hands. Skye had given him all the footage she’d found of both Clint and Natasha from the WSC facility, and Phil had been watching it more than he probably should. Tracing his finger along the screen, Phil stroked the grainy edge of Clint’s face. The man in the video wasn’t the strong, cheeky agent Phil had come to rely on so much. Instead, he reminded Phil more of the bitter, anger mercenary Nick had recruited. A scruffy beard covered Clint’s cheeks and jaw, his hair matted and his body thin under his clothes. More than that, Phil could see the pain in Clint’s hunched shoulders. The way he’d curled in on himself, his bruised wrists and bleeding arm cradled close to his chest.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, Phil leaned his head back against the wall behind him. The burning urge to find Clint was pressing against his ribs, making it hard to breath. The longer Phil stayed at Nick’s secret base, the more guilt rose up to choke him. Clint was  _ out there _ somewhere, alone and unaware Phil was alive. While the last might not mean as much to Clint as it did to Phil, the inactivity was slowly strangling Phil. He might not have been ready to be out in the field, but he couldn’t just hide away while Clint was in danger and hurting.

Brushing away the tear sliding down his cheek, Phil blinked open his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself by watching the footage of Clint. It didn’t give him any clues to where Clint was, or what he was going, but it felt like Phil’s last link to the man he loved.

Shoving away the Starktab, Phil rubbed his hands over his face. This wasn’t helping anyone. Even so, his eyes drifted to his phone. He hadn’t left any messages for Clint after the first one, but the temptation was still there. It didn’t seem to matter that Clint would never hear them. Before he could stop himself, Phil dialled the number to Clint’s message service. Glancing down at Clint’s frozen face on the Starkpad, Phil tried to ignore how his breath hitched.

“Clint,” he said. “It’s me again.” Huffing out a bitter laugh, Phil pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “Your own personal ghost.” He dropped his hand and took a deep breath. “I really hope that wherever you are, you’re safe. God, I hope you’re safe. I wish I was there with you, too, but I don’t think I’d be much help, even if you wanted me. Coming back to life is harder than it looks in the movies.”

Phil squeezed his eyes shut again as the tears welled. “Shit. I can’t even make jokes about it without feeling like someone’s just driven their fist into my gut. How bad is that?” he said. “I really wish you were here, Clint. You’d probably make some God-awful pun, but it would make me feel less useless anyway.” He swallowed. “And I wouldn’t feel like I’d failed you, because you’d be here. Not wherever you are, because you thought SHIELD had given up on you.” Phil drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Clint. I’m so  _ sorry. _ ”

Hanging up the phone, Phil slumped down onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The video footage of Clint in that cell was etched into his mind in a way that felt impossible to forget. He’d watched Clint’s deterioration, the slow erosion of the spark behind Clint’s eyes. Phil had watched as Clint had raged and tried to escape, how he’d thrown his whole being into getting out. How he’d exercised to keep fit and sane. And how that had all faded until Clint spent most of his days drugged and  _ in chains _ , sitting curled in on himself until Natasha had come to rescue him.

Tears slid down Phil’s face as he closed his eyes, not matter how many times he reached up to brush them away. His heart was splintering, the fragments that had survived Loki withering in his chest. Phil hadn’t known how excruciatingly painful love could be. How it felt like a betrayal that Clint didn’t know the truth. In the morning, Phil would lock all his grief and bitter longing back behind his ribs again, and he would be Agent Coulson. But tonight, he wouldn’t stop the tears. Just this once, he’d cry for the man he’d loved and everything they might have been.

<*>

“You look like you could use a hell of a lot of cheering up, Phil. Resurrection not agreeing with you?”

Phil looked up from where he’d been contemplating the coffee in his mug as John Garrett dropped into the chair opposite him. He sent Garrett a smile he didn’t feel. “Guess I’m still trying to deal with everything that’s happened,” he said.

Garrett nodded. “Want me to distract you with the story of that time in Kinshasa when I crashed through the skylight and shot that guy with a flare gun?” he said.

Phil frowned before he worked out which mission Garrett was talking about. “You didn’t come in through the skylight,” he said. “I was there, remember?”

“Were you?” Garrett said.

Phil nodded. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t shoot anyone with a flare gun, either,” he added. He took a sip of coffee, grimacing when he discovered it was cold.

“I always knew I drank too much,” Garrett joked with a smile. He shrugged. “It sounds better when I tell it that way, anyway.”

Phil couldn’t disagree with that. Kinshasa had been a particularly shitty mission. Without Garrett’s intervention, Phil would have walked away with more than a bullet to the shoulder. If he’d walked away at all.

“Want to talk about it?” Garrett offered, taking a drink of his own coffee.

“Not really,” Phil replied, pushing away his coffee mug.

“You sure?” Garrett said. “Coming back to life isn’t easy. It might help to get some of it off your chest.”

Phil grimaced. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he said. “I don’t remember anything between closing my eyes on the Helicarrier and waking up here.”

Something almost like disappointment flashed through Garrett’s gaze. “Pity,” he said. “Something like that might have been useful in the future.”

Phil glanced away. “I’m not really sure I’d wish this on anyone,” he said quietly.

Garrett got up and clapped a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Buck up,” he said with a bright smile, but the light of understanding in his eyes. “Things may get better? Who knows?”

Summoning a genuine smile for his old friend, Phil looked up. “Maybe,” he said.

<*>

Phil stared up at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts haunted by Clint and Natasha and Nick. He'd retreated to his room again, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was a reminder of every miscalculation and mistake. Of everyone he’d let down.

At a soft footstep just outside his room, Phil jolted upright. He instinctively reached for a weapon, not relaxing until he saw Melinda in the doorway, her face illuminated by the Starktab in her hands. Taking a shuddering breath, Phil lowered his gun, and Melinda shut the door behind her, flipping on the light. Squinting at the sudden brightness, Phil waited for his eyes to adjust.

“Melinda?” he said when he could finally see, blinking at how pale Melinda looked. “What happened?”

“Nick’s in trouble,” Melinda said in a low voice. She cut off Phil’s questions with a sharp look. “He’s okay, but I don’t know much.” She took a deep breath. “He was helping Natasha and Captain Rogers find the source of some files at the old SSR base in New Jersey. He thought it would help him discover what’s going on at SHIELD.”

Phil nodded, but his mind was spinning. “He was attacked?” he said.

Melinda nodded. “Short-range missile,” she said. “I had Skye trace his location.” She turned the Starktab around so Phil could see the screen.

Phil sucked in a breath, the black and white satellite photo showing the remains of what appeared to be a building. “But you said Nick was okay?” he asked, glancing up at Melinda.

“Caught in the shockwave, but okay,” Melinda confirmed. “He wasn’t in the building when it blew.”

Icy fear squeezed Phil’s heart. “Natasha and Captain Rogers?” he asked.

Melinda let out a breath. “I don’t know. Nick didn’t say,” she replied. “That’s not all.”

Phil’s stomach churned, watching Melinda. She was almost hesitant, which wasn’t like her. “I think SHIELD sent the missile,” she said.

“SHIELD?” Phil echoed disbelievingly. “ _ No _ . Why would SHIELD be targeting an old SSR base? Why would they be targeting  _ Captain America _ ?”

It was possible that SHIELD hadn’t known Captain Rogers or Natasha were on site, but that was doubtful if they had the base under surveillance. There was also the question of why SHIELD would attack  _ Nick _ . Nothing about this made sense.

“That’s the question,” Melinda said grimly.

They lapsed into silence, Phil shifting over on the bed so Melinda could sit down. Melinda looked just as troubled by everything as Phil felt, her fear shining in her dark eyes. Phil couldn’t help but think that maybe they were trying to solve the wrong puzzle, and without all of the pieces.

A sharp sound broke into Phil’s thoughts, his body freezing and flooding with adrenaline before his mind had a chance to catch up.

That was a  _ gunshot _ .

His eyes snapped to Melinda’s, who immediately flipped off the light. Phil’s heart slammed against his ribs and for a few heartbeats, Phil almost convinced himself he’d imagined the sound. Someone shouted, and then a chillingly familiar sound echoed through the base. Automatic gunfire. All Phil could think was that the WSC had found them, and it wasn’t until Melinda put a hand on his arm that he noticed how fast he was breathing.

“Easy, Phil,” Melinda said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Consciously, Phil sucked in a deeper breath, trying to calm his heartbeat. He was  _ better _ than this, and if it really  _ was _ the WSC coming to grab them, they wouldn’t find Phil panicking in a dark room. Another burst of gunfire echoed down the corridor, nearer this time, and Phil shifted closer to Melinda. “I need to find Skye,” he said in a low voice. Skye would be terrified, even if she’d be trying not to show it. Unlike most of the people in the base, Skye wasn’t a trained spy.

“I’m going to find whoever is fighting back,” Melinda replied. “And figure out who’s attacking us.” She hesitated, and Phil couldn’t see her face, but he could feel Melinda’s eyes on him. “Get down to the garage. Take a car, and get Skye out of here.”

Phil clenched his jaw, a spike of white hot anger surging through him. “I’m not leaving,” he growled.

“Phil,” Melinda said. “The WSC doesn’t know you’re alive. Let’s keep it that way.”

Phil gave a curt nod, despite how all his instincts rebelled. Melinda was right. He needed to think strategically, not with his emotions. Tightening his grip on his gun, Phil rose to his feet, fumbling for his boots as quietly as he could. He didn’t try changing out of his sweatpants, just shoved his feet into the thick-soled boots and threw on a hoodie. His fingers remembered how to dress in the dark, practiced from more than a few missions over the years. Then Phil moved to the door where Melinda was waiting.

She opened it a crack, letting in a sliver of dim light, before turning and giving Phil a nod. Phil nodded back. Slipping out into the corridor, Phil crept forwards, heading for Skye’s room and hoping she was still there. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made Phil’s pulse spike, and he only barely resisted the urge to flatten his back against the wall, but it was just Melinda. Melinda watched him carefully before silently indicating she was moving in the opposite direction.

Phil nodded again, taking a deep breath.  _ Get it together _ , he told himself.

Peering carefully through the shadows, Phil started moving again in the direction of Skye’s room. Another burst of gunfire echoed, even closer this time, followed by several shouts and an answering series of shots. Phil swallowed, trying to force his heartbeat into an even rhythm. Things were sounding more and more like a serious attack, except Phil couldn’t believe the WSC had found them. There was more going on. Something deep in Phil’s chest twinged like a pulled muscle, but he ignored it.

As Phil snuck down the corridor, he kept alert for any sign of the attackers. When he spotted a shadow off to his right, he reacted with a combination of training and instinct. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. The warm barrel of a gun pressed against Phil’s throat, digging into his skin and sending a tremor of fear shuddering down Phil’s spine. “Drop the gun,” a cold voice demanded from behind him.

Phil swallowed roughly. Forcing himself to let go of his gun was harder than he expected, but Phil didn’t trust his skills to take down the man behind him. Not with at least one other armed attacker nearby, even when the gun at his throat retreated a little. Phil wasn’t the agent he used to be, not anymore. Bending down and keeping his other hand visible, Phil placed his gun on the ground. A black boot kicked it away.

“Don’t think about trying anything stupid,” the voice behind Phil growled. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Gritting his teeth, Phil kept his arms raised in surrender, because he wasn’t sure he had any other choice. A few seconds later, a bright white bolt of agony exploded across his temple. Phil grunted as he staggered forwards, dropping to his knees. Gritting his teeth, Phil desperately tried to hang onto consciousness, but it was a losing battle. Blood slid down the side of his face, warm and sticky.

“Hail Hydra,” a voice whispered in his ear before a second blow had Phil dropping into darkness.

<*>

Biting back a groan, Phil swam back to consciousness. His cheek was pressed against the cold, hard floor, and from the ache in his shoulders, someone had tied his hands behind his back. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and the faintly nauseous sensation in his stomach warned Phil he might have a concussion. Of course, his injuries paled in comparison to the horrifying words still swimming around in his mind.

_ Hail Hydra. _

It couldn’t be possible -- Phil didn’t want to contemplate it. Hydra was supposed to be  _ gone _ , a terrifying relic of the past that no longer existed. Yet, it seemed that the nightmare was very, very real.

Rough hands grabbed Phil, yanking him to his knees. Gritting his teeth, Phil refused to make a sound as he blinked open his eyes. The bright light drilled into his eyes, and his vision swam alarmingly for a moment. When Phil could focus again, he counted five men watching him, all armed and dressed in black. They all wore varying levels of smirks on their faces, clearly pleased at having the upper hand. With a sickening jolt, Phil recognized them as  _ SHIELD agents _ .

“What’s going on?” he rasped, because it couldn’t be possible that  _ SHIELD _ was involved in this.

“Oh, come on Phil,” a familiar voice drawled. A beat later, Garrett walked around him to stand in front of the team of double-agents. “I thought it would be fairly obvious.”

“Why are you doing this?” Phil said, his gaze fixed on Garrett. He felt sick at the betrayal, his mind almost refusing to comprehend what was going on. “Fury trusted you.”

Garrett smirked, widening his hands to encompass the base. “In hindsight, that might have been a bad decision on Fury’s part,” he said. His face morphed into a gruesome caricature of a grin. “Hail Hydra.”

_ No. _

Phil didn’t want to believe it. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he bit out.

“Oh, Phil,” Garrett said. “That’s where you’re wrong. Hydra’s been here all along, hiding in the shadows and waiting for our chance to strike.”

Phil’s heart stuttered in his chest, and all he could do was suck in a breath. His mind shuddered away from the words, unable or unwilling to grasp what Garrett was telling him. After waking up from the dead, Phil had thought nothing had the power to shock him anymore. He’d been wrong. The very  _ wrongness _ of what was happening slid through him, cutting him open like shards of glass and grinding his bones to dust.

“You know,” Garrett said conversationally. “It isn’t my plan to kill you. If I’d wanted to do that, I could have done it at any time.” He crouched down in front of Phil, a smile on his face. “You and I go way back, Phil. Remember how Fury taught us tactics? Clearing corners, slicing the pie?”

Phil stared, a kernel of anger flaring into life in his gut. With every breath, it grew bigger and brighter and fiercer, burning through his blood until it felt like it was going to consume Phil whole. “Fury will bury you for this,” he snarled.

Garrett shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But Fury isn’t Director of SHIELD anymore. He’s just a wanted man.” He smirked. “Hell, soon Fury might not even be that. The top brass have orders out to kill him. Our dear old former Director will probably be dead by sun-down.”

“No,” Phil breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. Nick was tough and smart, but that didn’t stop the icy shards of fear spreading through Phil’s chest.

“Oh, yeah,” Garrett said, his smile turning hard and cruel. “It’s time for Hydra to come out of the shadows. We had a good thing going, waving the SHIELD flag as hard as we could, but I guess we’re changing colours now.”

“For Hydra?” Phil scoffed. “Spreading death and destruction? You really believe in all that crap?”

Shrugging, Garrett rose back to his feet. “I wouldn’t say I’m a true believer,” he said. “Let’s just say I felt the wind changing direction and swung my sail. You really should, too.”

“Join Hydra?” Phil echoed, not sure he could believe what he was hearing. His heart pounded against his ribs. “I would rather die, you sick son of a bitch.”

Casually, Garrett pulled back his hand and back-fisted Phil right across the face with enough force to snap his head to the side. Blood swirled in his mouth, his cheekbone and lip throbbing.

“Come on, Phil,” Garrett said. “Make the smart choice here.” Phil lifted his eyes to glare at Garrett again, but Garrett just shrugged and smiled again. “You’ve been serving Hydra the whole time. We’ve been here for  _ decades _ , living inside SHIELD. Think about it. Where do you think your orders have really been coming from?”

Phil clenched his jaw, his stomach lurching with the thought.  _ Oh God _ . Had he really been following orders given to him by Hydra? Phil was a SHIELD agent to his bones, but all his missions, his sacrifices… had they all been for Hydra the whole time?

“I consider you a friend, Phil,” Garrett continued. “I was happy when I heard you were still alive. I don’t want to do this. This is me being honest, Phil. Join Hydra.”

“No, John,” Phil said, lifting his chin and letting every molecule of defiance show on his face. “This is you being a psychopath.”

The first punch caught Phil in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs with a sharp, vicious spike of pain. A second slammed into his kidney, forcing a gasp through Phil’s teeth. Fingers slid into Phil’s hair, yanking up his head, before Garrett’s knee slammed into his face. The blow missed breaking his nose, but agony still exploded across the side of Phil’s face as his head rang. He slumped to the floor when they let him go, barely hanging on to consciousness. Phil gritted his teeth. He wasn’t giving up that easily.

Rough hands dragged him up a few minutes later, and this was it. If Garrett truly was Hydra, if he’d really betrayed them all, then he wouldn’t hesitate in killing Phil. Phil glared up at the man he’d considered a friend, sticky blood trailing down his cheek, the metallic taste filling his mouth.

“This is your very last chance, Phil,” Garrett said, drawing his gun.

A shiver slid down Phil’s spine. Not that long ago, Phil had stared up at a psychopath who thought he was a god, but compared to that, Garrett didn’t even come close. Tilting up his chin, Phil let his mouth curve into a cold smirk. “Fuck you, Garrett,” he enunciated clearly, the taste of blood on his tongue.

Garrett snarled, but before he could shoot Phil, Phil moved. Throwing himself to the side, Phil lashed out with a vicious kick to Garrett’s knee. Garrett staggered forwards, his shot going wide. Phil rolled himself to his feet and slammed his shoulder into the nearest double-agent’s stomach. Both Phil and the agent went down, but Phil pushed back to his feet, trying to shake off the lurching in his head. Trying to go up against six well-trained men with his hands bound behind his back wasn’t Phil’s smartest decision, but if he was going to die again, he was going to die fighting.

The men shouted, spreading apart and raising their weapons. Phil looked around desperately for cover, but there was nothing he could reach, not before one of the double-agents got off a shot. Even so, Phil wasn’t going to stand there waiting for Garrett to shoot him.

The kitchen area was on the other side of the mess hall, but a few of the chairs near Phil had been knocked over at some point. Phil kicked one of them --  _ hard _ \-- into the nearest double-agent, and ran. Bullets thudded into the walls and the ground by his feet. Dodging sideways, Phil cried out as fire scored its way along his upper arm, ducking down and skidding underneath a table. It wasn’t much cover, but hopefully it would give Phil a moment to catch his breath and find a better option.

Then, suddenly, the doors at the end of the mess hall crashed open. A burst of gunfire, almost deafeningly loud, took out two of the double-agents and sent the others scrambling. In the chaos, Phil saw Garrett push himself to his feet, and for a second, their gazes locked. Phil’s heart lurched in his chest, but Garrett didn’t raise his gun. Instead, Garrett turned and ran, trying to escape now that the fight had turned against him. Phil’s heart pounded faster, blinking at the fact that Garrett hadn’t taken the shot.

“Phil, move!” Melinda yelled, a hand on Phil’s uninjured arm tugging him to his feet.

Shaking off his shock, Phil let Melinda drag him out from underneath the table and push him towards the cover of the kitchen counter. He glanced at her as he moved, but Melinda looked unhurt. Her face was grim as she shot back at the remaining double-agents, and it wasn’t long before the last man went down with several well placed bullets.

Phil slowly rose up from his crouch, glancing around him. Mack’s large form stood just to the left of the doors, a shotgun in his hands and Skye’s pale face peering out from behind him. Trip was to the right, assault rifle still braced at his shoulder as he checked to make sure the double-agents were dead. Phil swallowed, grateful for the rescue.

“Phil,” Melinda said. She flicked out a knife, stepping around behind him to cut the electrical ties binding his wrists. “How badly are you hurt?”

Phil winced as he brought his hands around to rub at his wrists, and the movement jarred the graze on his arm. “Well, I’ve got a bastard of a headache, but I’m pretty sure I can walk,” he said.

Melinda narrowed her eyes at him as if she didn’t appreciate his attempt at humour. “I’ll bind your arm as best as I can, but we need to get out of here,” she said, her voice clipped.

“Probably a good idea,” Phil agreed, even though the anger cramping in his gut urged Phil to go after Garrett and his cronies.

Using his left hand, Phil wiped at the sticky trail of blood on the side of his face, before leaning to the side and spitting the blood from his mouth. His cheekbone ached in counterpoint to his head and arm, the pain flaring with each heartbeat. Phil pushed it aside, feeling his face smooth out into a cold mask. Ruthlessly, Phil locked his rage and fear back behind his ribs, shoving his spiraling thoughts into a corner of his mind. He could think about Garrett and fucking  _ Hydra _ later.

Right now he needed to be the soldier, the calm agent who had gotten so many others back safe. He could indulge the human side of himself when the mission was complete. Until then, until his team was safe, Phil would be the soldier they needed him to be.

“Let’s go,” he said.

<*>

_ On the outskirts of Toronto, Canada _

After gathering up the limited supplies they could find, they'd headed for a city to get lost in. By the time they hit the outskirts of Toronto, everyone but Mack and Melinda had been sagging. Skye had even fallen asleep, squashed in the backseat, her head pillowed on Trip’s shoulder. From there, it had been easy enough to find an old, abandoned warehouse. Phil was grateful, his body aching and exhausted. He needed a few hours sleep.

The warehouse was cold, but functional, and Trip and Mack helped clear out space enough in what looked like old offices in the back. After laying down a few sleeping bags, it even looked marginally comfortable. When Melinda excused herself to call Nick with their location, Phil took the opportunity to slip away. He should probably be helping or seeing if anyone else needed first aid, but Phil couldn’t do it. He just needed five minutes to himself.

Out of prying eyes, he could finally let go of the impassive mask he was so used to wearing as a second skin. He’d tried to pull the mantle of Agent Coulson over him after they'd left the base, but something had cracked inside his chest. He’d barely managed to hold it together. Leaning back against the wall, Phil slid to the floor as the strength in his legs finally gave out. He stuck his head between his knees, gasping for breath as his eyes burned.

_ Oh, God _ .

Three weeks ago, Phil had woken up to a world gone wrong, to the knowledge that he’d  _ died _ and that his assets were missing. Nine hours ago, Garrett had pointed a gun in his face and sneered the words that had shattered any of the pieces of Phil’s world that remained.  _ Hail Hydra _ . Nine hours since-

Phil cut his thoughts off ruthlessly. Dwelling on what had happened wouldn’t help anyone. He needed to focus on the facts and come up with a plan, not brood over something that had already happened. Letting out a long, thready breath, Phil raised his head. He ran a hand over his face, wincing as his fingers hit the dried streaks of blood still clinging to his skin. There was blood on his hands too, and underneath his fingernails. It was rust coloured now, but Phil remembered when it had been hot and red. When it had pulsed beneath his fingers as he gasped, the cold of the bulkhead sinking through his suit…

Phil closed his eyes, biting his lip and using the sharp pain to stop the memory rising up to swallow him. It was okay. He was still alive, still breathing. It wasn’t Loki. There was no spear, no Nick watching him in grief. He was fine.

Letting out a breath, Phil tried to will his battered body back to his feet. His five minutes were up, and Melinda would come looking for him if he lingered for too long. Besides, he needed to check in, see when Nick was coming, and maybe even see if he could sleep for an hour or two.

Phil tensed as soft footsteps approached, snapping open his eyes. Skye hovered a few steps away, a hesitant smile on her face. It faded quickly as she stared at Phil, but even so, Skye took a step forward and held out the water bottle clenched in her hands. “I thought you might be thirsty,” she said quietly.

Phil tried to smile, but he couldn’t quite convince his face to move. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.

When he moved to get up, Skye waved him back down. Instead, she stepped forward again before sitting awkwardly down beside him. Phil gratefully took the water when she was close enough, and he hadn’t realized how thirsty he actually was until he’d drunk half the bottle. “Does Melinda need something?” he asked, glancing over to where Skye was still watching him.

Skye shook her head. “No,” she replied. “At least, I don’t think so. She was still on the phone when I left.”

Phil nodded. “Right.”

Biting her lip, Skye fiddled with the hem of her large sweater. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, I could go get a first aid kit or something?” She shrugged. “You kinda don’t look so good.”

Phil gritted his teeth as his eyes burned again at Skye’s soft words. He glanced away and tried to get his ragged breathing under control. All his walls were crumbling, but he stubbornly tried to hang on to them all the same. “I’ll be fine,” he choked out. “Just give me a minute.”

“No,” Skye replied softly. “I mean, you can take as many minutes as you need, but I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m just going to keep sitting here. In case you need me.”

Phil huffed out a watery laugh, but there really wasn’t anything amused in the sound. “Thanks,” he said, wiping another hand over his face.

He grimaced again as it came away dirty. Skye must have caught his expression because she offered another tentative smile that Phil caught out of the corner of his eye. “If you want to, I think there’s a bathroom over there where you can get cleaned up?” she said. “With any luck, we’ll even have running water. You know, if you want to wash off the blood.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Phil told her.

Skye scrambled to her feet, and then reached down a hand. Phil took it, letting Skye help him to his feet. His vision clouded as a wave of dizziness hit him, and Phil didn’t protest when Skye gently nudged him forwards. When Phil shouldered open the door, the bathroom was reasonably clean and functional. Pulling away from Skye’s hands, Phil walked over to one of the basins and the mirror fixed onto the wall in front of it.

He sucked in a shaking breath, purposefully avoiding looking at his own reflection. He hadn’t really liked glancing in the mirror since he’d woken up, reminded too much of the ghost of the man he’d once been. Skye’s watchful eyes were on him, prickling the back of Phil’s neck. Keeping his eyes down, Phil reached out to turn on the tap. The water was cold, and Phil focused on scrubbing the dirt and blood from his hands until his skin was pink.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Skye asked softly.

“Not really,” Phil replied roughly.

He splashed water on his face, wordlessly taking the old towel Skye produced from somewhere and held out. Swallowing, Phil scrubbed his face almost as hard as he had his hands, wincing when he pressed on his injuries. His bruises were probably pretty colourful by now. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Phil attempted to straighten his shoulders. He was barely hanging on by a thread, but now was not the time to give in. He couldn’t afford the weakness, not now. Only Phil feared he wasn’t going to get a choice with the burning, twisting anger and grief clawing its way out through his ribs.

“Did you get someone to check out your head?” Skye said.

Phil glanced at her. She was still watching him, warm concern lighting her eyes. “I’m fine,” he said shortly.

Skye looked like she wanted to argue, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t stupid -- Skye could see that Phil  _ wasn’t _ fine, but she didn’t press. Phil was grateful for the small mercy. Looking away again, Phil tightened his grip in the towel and squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing ragged. A voice in the back of his mind was whispering that this was all his fault, that everything was happening because of him.

Skye stepped closer, and then her hand covered Phil’s, squeezing lightly. “It’s not your fault,” she said, eerily echoing the thoughts still swimming around Phil’s head.

Phil blinked, staring down at Skye’s small hand. The warmth of the touch was more reassuring that he wanted to admit and Phil let it sink into him for a moment. “Are you really so sure of that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Skye replied. “And even if I wasn’t, your friends are.”

Phil snorted, not sure he could trust that.

They stood in silence for a moment before Skye squeezed his hand again. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s go see if Mack has found any food. I’m hungry.”

Phil swallowed, pushing down the ever-present storm of emotions that he was going to have to deal with soon. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure.”

<*>


	11. Clint

_ Just outside of Springfield, Illinois _

Clint blew out a plume of smoke, his phone ringing in his ear. Chain-smoking his way through half a pack of cigarettes while he continually dialled Natasha’s burner phone wasn’t exactly healthy, but Clint’s nerves had been rubbed raw. Constant nightmares barely let him sleep more than a few hours a night, a fact not helped by the attempt to kill him two days ago. Instead of pacing a hole in yet another seedy motel room, Clint had retreated outside, sitting down on the low wall outside the room, his foot braced on a brick support pillar. He was on edge and he desperately needed his best friend’s voice in his ear.

(Clint was struggling hard not to think of the other voice he wanted in his ear. That was never going to happen again. Phil was  _ dead _ .)

“Come  _ on _ , Nat,” Clint muttered.

The hesitant footsteps behind him warned Clint that someone had intruded on his solitude, and there was really only one person that would be before dawn. Well, Fitz might also go looking for him, but so far it had mostly been Simmons, “call me Jemma”, who came looking. Hanging up the phone, Clint took another drag on his cigarette as he turned. Jemma stood behind him, deceptively small in the hoodie she’d borrowed from Clint.

“Still no answer from your friends?” she asked with an attempt at cheerfulness. Even her English accent was out of place in the grimy roadside motel, but the place was cheap and hadn’t asked any questions.

Clint swallowed, his gut clenching. “No,” he said shortly.

He tensed when Jemma took another step forward. She reached out, as if she wanted to offer comfort, but drew her hand back before she touched Clint. “I’m sure whoever they are, they’re fine,” she said, her smile brittle, but her eyes determined. “SHIELD only trains the best, after all.”

Clint snorted, stubbing out his cigarette. “Nat wasn’t trained by SHIELD,” he said dryly, ignoring the way his heart twisted. She was also the closest thing Clint had to family. He closed his suddenly burning eyes. “I should never have left her.”

“Nat?  _ Oh _ . You’re talking about Agent Romanoff,” Jemma said, a trace of awe in her voice. “Well, she is the Black Widow. I’m sure she knows how to take care of herself.” She stepped forward, this time resting a hand on Clint’s arm. “You can’t blame yourself for taking the time you need.”

“Can’t I?” Clint said darkly, but he didn’t shake off Jemma’s hand. Suffocating in self-pity wasn’t getting him anywhere, and besides, the dark shadows under Jemma’s eyes were deeper than they’d been that morning. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Jemma said with another of those brittle, fake smiles. “It’s, well, you’re not the only one who’s having trouble sleeping, I guess.”

Clint couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been as innocently positive as Jemma Simmons. His father had beaten that out of him pretty quick. Yet, there was an undeniable strength about Jemma. A layer of steel running underneath her skin. “You don’t have to do that,” Clint told her. “Smile. Not if you don’t want to.”

The fake smile slid from Jemma’s face, letting some of her fear show through. “Yes, I do,” she said. “For Fitz.”

Clint’s heart twisted. She reminded him so much of Natasha in that moment that it snatched the air from his lungs. “Fitz is stronger than you think,” he said, his voice rough. He rested a hand over Jemma’s on his arm. “So are you.”

Jemma swallowed, her dark eyes wide as she gazed up at Clint. “I’m not so sure about that,” she whispered.

“I am.” The words came to Clint easily, whispered in the back of his mind by Phil’s voice. “Don’t count yourself out yet, Jemma,” he said. “You’ve survived this far.”

Jemma blinked before offering Clint a tremulous, but genuine, smile. “I guess I have,” she said. “Something tells me I’m going to need to hold onto that soon.”

Clint swallowed, turning his gaze back to the beginnings of the sunrise. Jemma stood beside him in silence for a while, her words echoing around them as Clint’s fingers twitched for his battered pack of cigarettes. For a moment, Clint almost wished Nick was there. Clint might see better from a distance, but Nick had always been a master at seeing the bigger picture.

“You should probably get some sleep,” Clint told Jemma finally.

“You should, too,” Jemma replied. “Sleep deprivation can cause increased reaction times and reduced alertness. And, well, I’m worried.”

The tone was wrong, but the reminder was exactly something Phil would have said. Almost unconsciously, Clint’s hand came up to press against Phil’s dogtags underneath his t-shirt. “I will,” he replied, not looking at Jemma. “In a minute.”

Jemma hesitated for a long moment, before eventually leaving Clint to his thoughts.

<*>

_ 10 miles inside the Hoosier National Park, Indiana _

Later that morning, as they were passing through Springfield, things went from bad to worse. They’d stopped at a diner to grab breakfast and coffee, and Clint was nursing his third cup when the bulletin had flickered across the TV. He’d been too far away to hear most of the report over the rest of the diner crowd, but he’d caught enough.  _ Captain America _ was on the run from SHIELD. That was some doomsday shit right there.

“Come on,” he’d told Jemma and Fitz as he’d tossed some cash on the table for their waitress. He’d ignored their stunned expressions and hustled them out to the car.

Ten minutes later, he’d been struck by an idea. Hooking a U-turn, he’d pointed the car in the direction of Jasper, Indiana, and the disused SHIELD communications station about twenty-five miles down the road from the town. It was old but functional, and Nick had once sent Clint and Phil on a road trip to it after a mission gone FUBAR and he’d needed Clint out of sight for a bit. Clint was grateful for that trip now, despite the resentment at the time, and the painful reminder of the photo he’d made Phil take at the town sign so he could tease Sitwell with it.

The communications station, disguised as a Ranger station, was old, as was the radio equipment in the basement, but with Fitz’s help, Clint got it working again. Afterwards, Fitz and Jemma retreated to another part of the station to do an inventory of whatever supplies they could find. It was a good idea, even if Jemma had only suggested it to avoid Clint’s growing frustration. He hadn’t wanted to wait, and his growing frustration at searching staticky radio channels combined with his exhaustion was only making his temper more volatile. He should probably take a break from flipping channels, but there would be a signal out there.

There had to be.

Clint almost flipped right past it, but the pattern caught his attention and stilled his fingers. The repeating cycle of beeps were faint, but it was undeniably one of SHIELD’s older emergency codes. The message was little more than a warning of danger and a set of coordinates, but it was enough.

Clint swallowed. In his chest, his heartbeat picked up, thumping against his ribs. He might have already decided to find SHIELD again, to figure out what was going on, but now that the moment was here, Clint wasn’t sure he was ready. Of course, Clint hadn’t exactly been ready for half the shit he’d been through in his life. He’d just gritted his teeth and held on. At least this time he could brace himself.

Pulling out a map, Clint tried to figure out where the coordinates were sending him. It was somewhere inside the US, which made sense -- there’d be a different emergency signal for other continents. If they needed it. Clint didn’t want to think about what it would mean if they did. Sliding down the map, Clint’s finger hit Illinois. Shit, the coordinates were on the outskirts of Chicago. At least that was only about six hours away by car, less if Clint put his foot down. They could probably make it my nightfall.

Shutting down the radio, Clint gathered his stuff and went to tell Jemma and Fitz.

<*>

_ Outskirts of Chicago, USA _

The coordinates led Clint to an old building on the south side of Chicago. Just in case the radio message turned out to be a trap, Clint had grabbed a sniper’s rifle and headed for the rooftops, warning Fitz and Jemma to stay out of sight by the car. He’d given Jemma a spare burner phone too, so that he could send her a message to get out of there if he needed to.

The problem with the kind of message Clint had picked up on the radio was there was no way to tell its age. It could have been looping for months. Clint didn’t have any way of telling who sent it, either. He still remembered that time outside Warsaw with the mutant-worshipping cult. This time, Clint had even more reasons to be suspicious -- what with being grabbed by the WSC, Captain America being on the run from SHIELD, and Hydra trying to kill him.

Settling into his rooftop perch, Clint ignored the cracked concrete beneath his stomach and thighs and used his scope to scan the entrances to the building across the street. There was no obvious movement inside, but there was a dark alley on the left, clustered with a rusted out dumpster and several rotting wooden crates. It would be a good place for a clandestine meeting -- or an ambush. Clint did another sweep of the building and street anyway to be sure, but there was nothing.

Breathing out, Clint settled in to wait. He tried to sink down into the focused awareness he used as a sniper, but everything just felt jarringly  _ wrong _ . The rifle in his hands wasn’t the specialized model SHIELD usually sent him in with, and there was no comm in his ear. No calm, dry voice sharing witty quips or mission updates, no thread of concern when his handler thought Clint had been quiet too long. The gaping hole in his chest was yawning wider, slowly sucking in all the familiar parts of Clint until there was nothing but an empty shell left.

God, he missed Phil  _ so much _ .

It had been the same the last time Clint had held a rifle, too. He could have brought his back-up bow, but he’d hesitated. Maybe it had been the spectre of Phil, looming large in his mind, and the memory of Phil’s laughter at his arrow related puns. Hell, missing Phil was  _ always _ there, curled up under Clint’s ribs right next to the aching scar that was Barney’s betrayal. In Alaska, Clint had distracted himself with focusing on watching Natasha’s back and keeping her safe, but this time all he had was the aching emptiness of his own thoughts.

He was grateful when he finally spotted two women heading for the alley a few hours later. One of them had a hoodie pulled up over her head, hiding her hair, but she turned her face enough that Clint caught a glimpse through his scope. Akela Amador. She’d been on Phil’s team once, and they’d clashed wills so often Phil had been grumpy for a month. It had almost been funny -- Akela had been one of the few junior agents not to accept the infamous Agent Coulson’s advice as gospel. Clint had always liked that, even if Akela had never laughed at his jokes either. The other woman was dark haired and almost jumpy with nerves, but even so, there was a fluidity to her movements. She had a hand jammed into the pocket of her jacket, and Clint was willing to bet it was curled around a gun.

One of the shadows shifted further down the street and both women turned sharply, the dark-haired woman pulling a gun. Jimmy Woo raised both hands as he stepped out into the dim light from the moon, and through Clint’s scope the cut at Jimmy’s temple and the dark bruise on his jaw were obvious. Clint was too far away to eavesdrop, but Clint could read lips enough to catch something about “unarmed” and “don’t want to hurt”.

What the hell was going on? Woo was a damn good agent, as was Akela, and even the unnamed woman looked tough enough that Clint would think twice about messing with her. So why the hell were they here? If they were on active missions, SHIELD would have given them a better extraction than an old radio signal and a set of coordinates. Which left… what?

The door to the building opened, and a very familiar figure stepped part way out. Isabelle Hartley. Had she sent the message?

Nothing about this made any sense.

The gunshot was loud and unexpected, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Clint as he tensed. He immediately scanned the buildings around him, searching for the shooter. Shouts echoed up from the street, the unnamed woman now clutching her arm. She and Akela ran for the cover of the building, Isabelle covering them, pistol in hand. Not that it would help much against a sniper.

A second shot ricocheted on the sidewalk near Akela’s feet as she dived through the door, and the flash of a muzzle caught Clint’s eye -- third floor, building next to Clint’s. The asshole was actually leaning out the window, which was a rookie move. A second later, six heavily armed thugs in black stormed out of the alley, a spray of bullets biting into the wall of the building. Isabelle clearly hadn’t been expecting that kind of attack, because she started yelling at Woo, who had taken cover on the other side of the street. The attackers moved like a strike team, which sent cold fear sparking through Clint. This was  _ not _ good.

Slowing his breathing, Clint narrowed in on his target. He’d only have a few seconds for the shots before the thugs located his position, but Clint would make them count. He resisted the instinctual twitch of his finger on the trigger until the sniper was dead center in his crosshairs. Before the gunshot had even stopped echoing, Clint had lined up his second shot, hitting the leader of the strike team as he moved left. The rest of the strike team shouted, pointing in Clint’s direction, so Clint scrambled to his feet, keeping low as he moved. Bullets thudded into the wall and the roof as Clint hit the fire escape.

Pushing his tired and battered body to the limit, Clint sprinted down the stairs and grabbed the handgun from inside his jacket, the rifle slung over his shoulder. There were still five goons facing down Isabelle and the others, and Clint needed to get on the ground  _ fast _ .

The bursts of gunfire got louder the closer he got the ground, and Clint heaved his body over the railing on the last landing, dropping heavily onto the ground. Pain jolted up both legs as he rolled to his feet, but Clint ignored it as he staggered to the corner of the building. Gun leading, he exited onto the street, dropping two of the thugs with shots from behind. Isabelle used the distraction to shoot a third, Woo taking out the forth, and the fifth was already lying face down on the concrete.

His heart pounding and adrenaline thundering through his blood, it took Clint a second to lower his gun. “Barton?” Isabelle said in the echoing silence that followed, her eyes wide even as her own gun dropped to her side.

“Hey, Izzy,” Clint replied, his voice rough.

Clint had first met Isabelle Hartley a year after he’d been recruited to SHIELD. Looking back, Clint figured it was probably because Fury was finally losing patience with Clint’s bad attitude, but Clint had been so angry. Back then, he hadn’t known how to be anything else. Izzy hadn’t taken any of his shit though, and Clint would always be grateful for that. Isabelle had also been the one to put Clint’s name forward for a new strike team the infamous Agent Coulson had been putting together, which was how Clint had met Phil. Clint couldn’t regret that, not even now, when Clint was grieving for the man he’d loved from a distance and then lost.

Isabelle offered Clint a smile, but her eyes were grim. There was a weight to her gaze that Clint usually only associated with someone bleeding. Her dark brown hair hung messily to her shoulders, and the cargo pants she wore were ragged at the hem, her boots scuffed. She had a bruise on her temple and dark shadows under her eyes too, and Clint swallowed. It took serious trouble to faze Izzy.

Woo peered out of cover, gaping a little, and Akela and her unnamed friend were peering out from behind Isabelle. “Well, shit,” Isabelle said. “Last I heard the WSC had you.”

Clint nodded. “They did,” he agreed. “We escaped.”

Isabelle raised a questioning eyebrow, but Clint said nothing else. Whatever smartass quip he might have made before Loki and the WSC was lost to the yawning pit of grief in his stomach.

“Well, things are a bit rough out here, too,” Isabelle told him. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told, Barton, but you’ve got a hell of a lot to catch up on.”

Clint’s gaze flicked down to the nearest body and back to Isabelle. “Hydra,” he said.

“Hydra is only the start of it,” Isabelle said grimly. “I’ll give you the debrief, but we need to get to the safehouse first.”

“Probably a good idea,” the still-unnamed brunnette said dryly, stepping up beside Isabelle. She eyed Clint carefully before glancing at Izzy. “Can we trust him?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Clint replied, his voice hard and his grip tightening on his gun.

“Barton’s not Hydra,” Isabelle interjected. “I trust him.” Her blue-grey eyes settled on Clint. “You can trust Kara, too.”

Clint nodded once, tucking his gun back under his jacket again. He trusted Isabelle’s judgement. Now that the danger was passed, Clint swung the rifle from his shoulder. He broke the rifle down with sharp, efficient movements, stashing it in the bag Woo handed him.

“Come on,” Isabelle said. “We need to move.”

“Wait,” Clint said, swallowing. “I’m not alone. I… They’re just junior agents, so I left them with the car.”

Isabelle nodded. “Where are they?” she asked. “I’ll send Bobbi to meet you.”

Clint swallowed, his heart thumping in his chest. “Bobbi’s here?” he said, his voice weak over the pounding in his ears.

“Yeah,” Isabelle replied. “Fury sent her.”

Clearing his throat, Clint squeezed his eyes shut for a second before glancing back at Isabelle. “I left Fitz and Simmons near the Hyde Park Medical Center,” he said. “Tell Bobbi I’ll meet her there in an hour.”

“I’ll tell her,” Isabelle said quietly.

Nodding, Clint turned and headed back towards Jackson Park. The thought of seeing Bobbi had his stomach churning, and Clint’s fingers itched to pull out the battered pack of cigarettes he’d stashed in his jacket pocket. He and Bobbi had a complicated history, but it would be good to see her. Not quite as good as seeing Natasha, but that was only because Bobbi had far less patience at letting Clint keep his secrets. Still, Clint had made the choice to come back and there was no point turning around now that he was here. Swallowing, he picked up his pace and tried to steel himself for what was coming.

<*>

Making his way back to where he’d left the stolen car didn’t take long. He wiped it down with well-practiced movements, removing any trace that could be used to identify him or where he’d been. As an afterthought, he left the keys in the ignition and the doors open, because it would be better if the car disappeared completely.

Fitz and Jemma were hiding out in the coffee shop across the street, but Clint hesitated, eyes on the brightly lit window. The adrenaline of the fight was starting to fade, and the weight of what was happening settled heavier on Clint’s shoulders. Whatever had started with his and Natasha’s imprisonment by the WSC had spiralled out into something much, much bigger. Something Clint might not be able to handle.

_ Barton, you’re capable of anything you set your mind to. _

Clint’s breathing hitched, a sob welling from deep in his chest at the dry words echoing in his head. Phil had told him that more than once, usually while staring exasperatedly across his desk before dryly asking if Clint could apply himself to his after-action report and not the amusing origami penguin he was making. Those moments in Phil’s office had been little pockets of refuge for Clint, like the movie nights he spent with Natasha watching Star Wars or bad sci fi.

_ Go on, Barton. They’re depending on you. _

“Yes, Boss,” Clint whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Phil’s voice would  _ always _ be one he listened to, even if it wasn’t real.

Opening his eyes again, Clint sucked in a deep breath and headed across the street. The coffee shop was bright, and Clint blinked a little as he stepped inside. Fitz and Jemma were sitting at a corner table, Jemma’s eyes constantly moving around the coffee shop. She was trying to be subtle about it, but combined with the way Fitz had hunched in on himself, they stood out. At least to Clint. No one else in the place seemed to be paying them any particular attention, except for maybe the barista.

Nodding at the young man, Clint headed for the counter, hoping he didn’t look as rough as he felt. The kid was probably only eighteen, and from the dark skin, jewelry and vividly painted nails, probably not Hydra. From everything Phil had told him about the WW2 version of Hydra, they hadn’t been big on diversity or equal rights. Clint ignored the twist in his chest. Hopefully the barista just thought Jemma and Fitz were on an awkward first date.

“What can I get for you, sir?” the kid asked brightly, but Clint caught the way his eyes slid across Clint’s shoulders.

Huh. Definitely not Hydra.

“Black coffee in the largest size you have,” Clint ordered, his voice little more than a rasp. He cleared his throat.

“Coming right up,” the barista said with a slightly flirty smile.

While he was distracted by the coffee machine, Clint glanced over at Jemma, catching her eye and jerking his head towards the door. She nodded back, tapping Fitz on the arm and slipping out of her seat. Clint turned back to the barista just in time to catch the kid watching him as he put a lid on Clint’s cup.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something else?” the kid asked.

Despite everything, Clint’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “No,” he replied, “but thanks.”

The kid’s smile widened and he shrugged. Clint saluted with his cup and headed outside, a tiny kernel of warmth uncurling in his stomach. His life might have been an unrecognizable shitstorm right now, but kids like that were the reason Clint had fought so hard for SHIELD, to make the world a better place.

Jemma and Fitz were waiting nervously outside the coffee shop, and Clint wordlessly nodded towards a nearby side street. They followed him, Fitz’s hand tightly curled inside Jemma’s. As soon as they were out of sight of the main street, Clint turned to them. “I found the coordinates,” he said in a low voice. “It was a message from SHIELD. Something happened and we need to lie low for a while. Mockingbird is coming to pick us up, take us somewhere safe.”

Fitz sagged in relief. “Oh, thank God,” he muttered.

Jemma bit her lip, her eyes wide. “Agent Morse is coming?” she asked.

Clint blinked, suddenly struck by how inexperienced Jemma and Fitz were in the field. He’d fallen back on codenames as habit, but Jemma hadn’t. It wasn’t really a problem -- Clint doubted anyone had trained a listening device on them -- but it did bring out all Clint’s protective instincts. He’d never quite been able to bury them, especially when it was someone he cared about. “Yeah,” he told Jemma. “She should be here soon.”

“Oh,” Jemma said, breathing out a long sigh. “ _ Good _ .” She glanced at Clint. “She was one of the agents helping Fury. She… I mean, we can trust her, can’t we?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, nodding, his voice thick. “We can definitely trust Bobbi.”

Ten minutes later, a large black SUV pulled into the side street. Clint’s hand slipped under his jacket to curl his fingers around his gun, but then he was staring at Bobbi’s familiar face as she threw open the passenger door. “Get in,” she said, leaning back into the driver’s seat again.

Jemma and Fitz scrambled into the backseat, leaving the front for Clint, and he pulled his battered body into the car. “Hi Bobbi,” he greeted quietly as he pulled the door shut and Bobbi roared off again.

“Hey Hawk,” Bobbi replied, her eyes intent on the rearview mirror and her smile forced.

Clint slumped over in the passenger seat, the exhaustion of the last few days catching up with him now that there was someone else to watch his back. The warmth of the car lulled Clint into a doze as much as he struggled against it, the soft conversation between Bobbi and Jemma fading into the background. He jerked awake again when the engine turned off, Jemma and Fitz climbing out of the car. Clint rubbed his face with his hand, glancing through the windscreen at the perfectly normal suburban street. Hopefully Hydra wouldn’t bother looking for them here.

Reaching for the door, Clint moved to follow Jemma and Fitz, only Bobbi’s hand caught his arm before he could. “Clint,” Bobbi said, her eyes searching his face. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Clint turned towards her. Bobbi’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel and she wasn’t meeting Clint’s eyes. “What is it?” he asked, his stomach churning with icy fear.

“It’s about Coulson,” Bobbi whispered. She glanced at him, her blue eyes wide and filled with a fearful sort of grief. “He’s…” She swallowed heavily, her throat bobbing. “He’s alive, Clint. Coulson’s alive.”

Alive.

Something vulnerable cracked deep inside Clint’s chest. He fumbled with the door latch, spilling out the car in a puddle of limbs. His breath was coming hard and fast, almost hyperventilating, his vision blurring no matter how many times he blinked. Clint slid down the side of the SUV, slumping onto the ground with a thud and sticking his head between his knees. His hand reached up instinctively to grab at Phil’s dogtags that still hung around Clint’s neck, but the touch didn’t lessen the swirling mixture of grief and hope that slammed into him like a sledgehammer.

_ Alive. _

The word rang in Clint’s head, looping around and around, pounding in time with his heartbeat.  _ Alive alive alive alive _ .  _ Fuck _ . Phil was  _ alive _ . His hands were shaking so hard, it took three tries to dig the battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Bobbi’s hands closed over his before he could light one, and Clint sagged back against the SUV behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears spilled out anyway, sliding down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Clint, I’m so sorry,” Bobbi whispered, and the sharp, burning feeling in his chest  _ squeezed _ at the hitch in her voice.

“He’s alive?” Clint whispered, his voice so rough he barely recognized it. He glanced up to find Bobbi crouched down in front of him, her blue eyes shining faintly with tears. “He’s really alive?”

“I  _ swear _ ,” Bobbi said. “He’s alive.”

Clint drew in a shaky breath. He pulled one of his hands away from Bobbi to scrub over his face, brushing away the tears that had leaked out. “He’s alive,” he said. A laugh bubbled out of his throat, twisted and bitter, because wasn’t it just like the universe to twist and take something Clint loved?

He swallowed, fixing Bobbi with a sharp glance. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Bobbi replied. Her gaze was wary as she watched him, her mouth pulling down into a frown. “Fury did something. I don’t know the details, but… Coulson  _ was _ dead, Clint. Only, now he’s… not.”

“Just like that, huh?” Clint said, something hot and sharp building inside his chest. “Poof and he’s not dead anymore?”

Bobbi frowned harder. “I don’t think it was easy for anyone,” she said quietly. “I saw Fury’s face while he was waiting for Coulson to wake up, and whatever he did cost him, Clint.” She sighed, exhaustion and her own grief flashing over her face. “It would be better if you could just talk to him, but I don’t know where he is. Things are a little… scattered.”

Clint snorted, shoving himself to his feet. Shoving his cigarettes back into his pocket, he whirled around to face Bobbi, who was slowly rising from her crouch. “Scattered enough not to  _ tell me _ what the fuck is going on?” he snarled, the taste of sour anger swirling across his tongue. “To not be here in person, because hell, why would  _ I _ need to know that Coulson is  _ alive _ ?”

Bobbi narrowed her eyes, even as the voice in the back of Clint’s head warned him that wasn’t fair. “Hey,” Bobbi snapped. “Don’t you think Fury would be here if he could? And what the hell makes you think he hasn’t tried to tell you this, Barton?”

Clint gestured to the empty space where Nick Fury was distinctly not standing. “He’s not here now, is he?” he growled.

“Fuck you,” Bobbi said, her eyes bright with a blaze of righteous anger. “Fury is trying his best to deal with  _ everything _ that is going on -- not just you and Coulson. He was almost blown up by a  _ missile _ three days ago!” She sucked in a calming breath, flexing her hands like she wanted to punch him. “And don’t you  _ dare _ make it sound like he hasn’t left you a dozen or more messages on all your burner numbers, Clint. Like Nat hasn’t been doing exactly the same thing.”

Clint froze, his heart giving a sickening lurch in his chest. “What?”

His thoughts spun, the ground beneath his feet rocking like he was the only one caught in an earthquake. Clint wasn’t sure whether it was the word ‘missile’ or the idea that Nick had already tried to tell him about Phil that hit him the hardest.

Bobbi blew out a sigh. “What? You really thought Fury wouldn’t try to tell you? Even after the bullshit with the WSC?” she said. “Fury looks after his people -- his  _ friends _ . Clint, you  _ know _ that.”

Clint’s lips twisted. “I thought I did,” he said, his voice distant and way too fucking  _ calm _ to be healthy. “But then an alien fucked up my head and now I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Clint…” Bobbi began, her eyes going wide.

Numbly, Clint shook his head. He could feel himself shutting down as his survival instinct kicked in.  _ Keep breathing. Keep standing. Escape.  _ Taking a slow, deep breath, Clint pushed his storm of emotions aside and gripped that cold, dissociated calm with both hands. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, couldn’t let the news of Phil’s resurrection make him vulnerable.  _ Keep breathing _ . “I need a minute,” he said.

Bobbi bit her lip, clearly not wanting to leave, but to Clint’s relief, she didn’t push. Nodding, she stepped back. “I’ll be inside, Clint,” she said quietly. “Right there, if you need me.”

Clint nodded back. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, ignoring the way his fractured heart broke a little more at the lie. He wasn’t sure why Phil’s not-death changed things, but it irrevocably  _ had _ . Clint couldn’t go back and pretend that Phil hadn’t died because of Clint’s weakness, no matter what Nick had done afterwards. Truthfully, Clint wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face Phil, even if Bobbi would tell him where Phil was. He was barely holding on, and facing everyone after his betrayal under Loki’s orders wasn’t something he was sure he could withstand.

Bobbi retreated, glancing over her shoulder once as she stepped around the car. Clint’s stomach clenched, and he turned away, suppressing the urge to throw up. Betrayal curled tightly in his gut, because he was doing it all over again, only this time there was no Loki to blame. This was all on Clint.

Part of him wanted to take that step forward, to follow Bobbi into the safehouse, but he couldn’t make himself move. The more Clint thought about going back to the remains of SHIELD, of trying to reclaim his life, the more his hands shook. He swallowed heavily, his heart thumping in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night air, the words almost getting stuck in his throat.

Then he turned and ran.

<*>


	12. Jasper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Some of the dialogue (and events) in this chapter are taken from CA:TWS. Also, because I've had some comments on it, the Major Character Death tag was for Phil and his (temporary) death, and not anyone else. As far as I am concerned, Jasper is alive and well, and a triple agent working for SHIELD <3

_ Ideal Federal Savings Bank, Washington DC, USA _

Jasper Sitwell swallowed, keeping his face impassive, and tried to pretend he wasn’t terrified as  _ fuck _ . The latter wasn’t easy to do, because he was surrounded by malicious, sadistic double-agents, and Jasper only had a hope and a prayer for backup. The basement was the kind of cold and damp usually reserved for horror movies, and what it contained was so far beyond horrifying that Jasper didn’t have a word for it. None of Jasper’s many years as an undercover agent had prepared him for this.

The people around him ranged from mildly curious to relishing the moment. Jasper hesitated to call any of them agents, even though they were all badge carrying members of SHIELD. Considering they were all blatantly destroying every ideal Jasper had ever stood for, Jasper felt justified in not calling himself one of them. In his head, anyway. He knew how this undercover shit worked.

The spectacle they’d all come to witness was sitting straight-backed in a chair in front of them. At first glance, the guy in the chair looked like any of the ex-soldiers Jasper had met and worked with -- as long as he ignored the guards standing around him with their fingers on their triggers. The man wore black combat gear, the straps of his vest slightly worn in patches, but that’s where the familiarity ended. None of the ex-soldiers Jasper had ever met sat quite so  _ passively _ when surrounded by armed goons.

Not to mention the metal arm.

The man’s face was bare of the mask and goggles he usually wore, his brown hair handing in shoulder-length tangles around his face, but it was the blank expression that chilled Jasper the most. There was no spark of personality in the expression, just… blank.

Rumlow walked over and slapped Jasper on the shoulder. “He’s something, right?” Rumlow said, nodding at Hydra’s pet assassin.

Jasper offered a tight smile, as if his mouth wasn’t drier than a desert and it wasn’t taking everything he had to stop his hands from shaking. He tried to take deep breaths, because Melinda May had drummed lessons into him about how to keep control, and breathing was at the top of the list. “I’m more interested in what he can do,” Jasper said, grateful he sounded disinterested.

Because he was staring at  _ the fucking Winter Soldier _ .

Jasper had heard  _ stories _ about the Winter Soldier. With his skills, the Winter Soldier could take out every person in the room and no one would be able to stop him, except all he did was sit there, waiting for his next set of orders. This was the same assassin who’d once shot Natasha Romanoff to get to the nuclear scientist she’d been protecting. Somehow, the reality of the former Soviet assassin was  _ even more fucked up _ than Jasper had imagined. Of course, finding out fucking  _ Hydra _ had been growing inside SHIELD since almost the very beginning had pretty much recalibrated Jasper’s ability to be surprised about  _ anything _ .

“So why are we here?” Jasper asked Rumlow, because sometimes it was better to be prepared for the horrors he was about to face.

Jasper wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t trusted completely, not by Rumlow or any of the other Hydra agents. His skin wasn’t the right colour for that. Right now, Jasper was a means to an end, but one day he was going to outlive his usefulness. Jasper fought not to shiver at the prospect. He wouldn’t be the only one to suffer, and he could only pray that Maria and Fury took down these assholes before then. Or Jasper was going to pull a John McClane and take to the vents like Hawkeye.

(The thought hurt a little, because Clint was still  _ missing _ , and after the Hydra shit was over, Jasper was going to go find the archer. If Clint and Natasha hadn’t turned up by then, heralded by some sort of explosive armageddon.)

“Pierce has a new mission for the Soldier,” Rumlow said with a shrug.

And hadn’t that been the biggest kick to the guts? The ring of moles Jasper had been sent to infiltrate was not only  _ Hydra _ , but they were taking their orders from the Secretary of SHIELD. Jasper was still nauseous.

He glanced over at Pierce. The man’s three piece suit looked expensively out of place in the dreary basement and surrounded by thugs in combat gear. Maybe that was the point. Phil used to employ that tactic when he wanted to unnerve people.

“What new mission?” Jasper asked Rumlow, because for some reason Rumlow actually answered all his questions. Probably because Rumlow was the one with orders to kill Jasper when he outlived his usefulness.

Rumlow grinned wolfishly. “He’s going to kill Captain America.”

Jasper’s heart seized in his chest. “Really?” he said, impressed when his voice came out only slightly hoarse. “I thought Pierce wanted the Captain alive?”

“He did,” Rumlow agreed with another shrug. “But Rogers chose his side, and now Hydra has to take him out.” He shot Jasper another smirk. “Gotta love the irony of making the Soldier kill him, though.”

Frowning slightly, Jasper looked at Rumlow. “Oh?” he asked, even though Jasper could already tell this really wasn’t a question he wanted answered.

Rumlow’s smirk widened, the underlying cruelty sending a shiver down Jasper’s spine. “No one briefed you on who the Soldier is, huh?” Rumlow said. “Well, who he was is maybe a more accurate description.”

“No,” Jasper said dryly, swallowing more bile. “Guess I missed that one.”

Rumlow chuckled. “He doesn’t remember any of it,” he said, nodding his chin towards the Winter Soldier. “He’s Hydra’s weapon now, but his name used to be James Buchanan Barnes. Zola picked him up after he fell off a train in 1945.”

Jasper sucked in a measured breath even as his pulse spiked. “You mean, the Winter Soldier was once Sergeant Barnes, the  _ Howling Commando _ ?” he asked in a low voice.

Phil had loved talking about the Howling Commandos and Peggy Carter when he’d had a few beers in him, and Jasper had become a bit of an expert just by listening. All that information was swimming around in Jasper’s head now, fragments swirling together as the icy chill of the implications sank in. His stomach lurched sickeningly and Jasper had to fight to keep it off his face. Barnes was yet another of Hydra’s victims, and now they were going to make him kill the man he’d once regarded as a brother.

“Told you the irony was good,” Rumlow said.

He was definitely playing with Jasper, the way a cat played with a trapped mouse.

Jasper turned his attention back to Pierce, who was giving orders to the gathered Hydra double agents. “There’s one more thing,” Pierce said, raising his voice. He turned to face the Winter Soldier. Beside Jasper, Rumlow straightened, and Jasper braced himself for a new kind of sickening terror. “The timetable has moved. Our window is limited.” He slipped his hand inside his suit jacket and pulled out two photos that he handed to the Winter Soldier. From this angle Jasper couldn’t see who they were, and he  _ hated  _ it. “Two targets, level six.”

Pierce’s voice was still pleasant, like he didn’t care that he was ordering more deaths for the sake of a bunch of psychos who wanted a new world order.  _ Fuck _ , he probably didn’t.

The Winter Soldier looked down at the two photos in his hand and nodded once.

“They already cost me Camp Lehigh. Zola and I had plans for that,” Pierce added. “I want confirmed death in ten hours.”

Orders given, Pierce turned around, his eyes scanned in the gathered double agents until they settled on Jasper. He stepped forward, and Rumlow moved to the side. “Agent Sitwell, thank you for coming,” Pierce said with an affable smile. He put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, turning him away from the Winter Soldier and guiding him towards the stairs out.

“Of course, sir,” Jasper said, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Agent Rumlow said you had new orders for me?”

“I do,” Pierce agreed. He was still smiling, but there was something cold and terrifying in his eyes. “I need you to talk to Senator Stern. Now that we’ve had to move up the timetable for Project Insight, I need him ready to push those bills through Congress.”

Jasper nodded, his heart giving another of those sickening lurches he’d become so familiar with. If Jasper didn’t get out of there soon, he was either going to throw up or have a heart attack. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Should I be giving Senator Stern a deadline?”

Jasper needed to warn Maria if Project Insight was going online sooner than they’d thought. Jasper could only imagine the nightmarish apocalyptic future they faced if Hydra got control of Insight unchallenged.

“We want the bills buried and ideally passed by the end of next week,” Pierce said, “but a fortnight is also acceptable.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasper said, all his swallowed emotions burning a hole in his chest.

“Good,” Pierce said. By now, they’d exited the nondescript office building that was doubling as a Hydra meeting point, and Pierce let Jasper go. Over his shoulder, Jasper caught a glimpse of Pierce’s car idling at the curb. Pierce’s eyes cut back to his. “Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra,” Jasper replied, almost choking on the bile rising in his throat.

With another smile, Pierce nodded once and walked towards the waiting car. Jasper let out a shuddering breath.

_ Fuck. _

And he’d thought it was bad when Pierce had given the orders to kill  _ Fury _ .

<*>

_ Hidden stash point, Washington DC, USA _

Jasper’s hands were still shaking five blocks later. After checking -- again -- that he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into the shadows of a building and through a partially hidden door. The hallway beyond was dark, the carpet threadbare and the paint peeling on the walls. The general air of neglect was almost a physical thing, but Jasper didn’t need it to be the Ritz. In fact, it worked better that it wasn’t.

There was an old, dilapidated kitchen around the corner, and careful not to get his suit dirty, Jasper crouched down and opened the cupboard under the sink. His burner phone was where he’d left it, tucked between a piece of splintering wood and the bottom of the rusted sink.

It wasn’t exactly glamorous as a dead drop, but it was effective.

Taking a deep breath, Jasper let it out slowly and dialled a number from memory. The phone rang three times in his ear before a wonderfully familiar voice answered. “Yes?” Maria Hill asked.

Jasper let out a shaky sigh. “It’s Agent 22,” he greeted. As hard as it was to trace a burner phone, Jasper wasn’t taking any chances by using his real name.

“It’s good to hear your voice, Agent 22,” Maria replied, her voice just as shaky as Jasper’s had been. “What’s your status?”

“Terrified as fuck, but still breathing,” Jasper told her with a touch too much honesty.

“Do you need an exit?” Maria asked sharply.

“Not yet,” Jasper said, letting the sound of his best friend’s voice soothe his nerves. “There’s something I still have to do -- but I do have information. The Winter Soldier has been given new targets. I don’t know the specifics, but Pierce called them level six targets. Limited window.” He swallowed, because the next part was the really fucked up bit. “I didn’t get a glimpse of the photos, but Pierce said they already cost him Zola. He wants the targets dead sometime within the next ten hours.” He paused again. “Did Pierce mean…?”

“Rogers,” Maria said grimly. “And Natasha. She’s been helping him. Well, Fury has too, but…”

“...but the Winter Soldier already has a kill order for Fury,” Jasper finished, feeling sick.

“Fuck me,” Maria breathed. “This isn’t good.”

Jasper gave a short, sharp laugh, because that was an  _ understatement _ . “You can warn them, right? Captain Rogers and Romanoff?” he said.

“I’ll warn them,” Maria said grimly. “I promise.”

Letting out another breath, Jasper nodded. “Good,” he said. “I’ll check in again in six hours.”

“Confirmed, Agent 22,” Maria replied, as professional as ever, except for the way she hesitated instead of hanging up. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Jasper swallowed. “I will,” he replied. “You too, okay?”

Maria breathed out. “Yeah,” she said. “Promise.”

She hung up, and Jasper stood there listening to the dull silence on the phone for a long time, the way Maria’s voice had wavered echoing in his mind.

<*>

_ Jasper’s Apartment, Washington DC _

Jasper retreated to his apartment, because there was nothing else he could do. He hadn’t spent very long in the military before SHIELD had scooped him up and given him a better use for his talents, but Jasper remembered the ‘hurry-up-and-wait’. His body was crashing after all the adrenaline, nausea still twisting his stomach and fine tremors running up and down his spine. Pulling off his glasses, Jasper rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to force away the headache pounding at the front of his brain.

Fuck, he could really do with some  _ arroz con leche _ like his  _ abuela _ used to make. Nothing like comfort food when Jasper was likely to die in the morning.

He wasn’t looking forward to meeting with Senator Stern, and not just because the man was smarmy, arrogant and had absolutely no morals. Jasper  _ hated _ doing Hydra’s dirty work. He was going to relish the moment those bastards found out SHIELD wasn’t as clueless about their plans as they thought. Unfortunately, to do that, Jasper was going to have to keep his mouth shut and smile when Stern inevitably brought up the escapades involving his latest mistress.

Jasper’s head was still swirling with the implications of what Maria had told him. If Rogers and Natasha -- with Fury’s help -- had gone after Zola, then things were more serious than Jasper had feared. Not to mention the terrifying knowledge that Arnim Zola had turned himself into a supercomputer. Jasper had got the recruitment pitch when he’d “joined” Hydra. He’d heard all about the Hydra scientists recruited to SHIELD during Operation Paperclip. He just hadn’t realized Zola had been one of them.

It put a terrifying spin on the Winter Soldier, too. SHIELD had always suspected that Zola had experimented on Sergeant Barnes during his capture. Now, Jasper was trying to wrap his mind around the fucked up possibility that Hydra had been controlling the Winter Soldier all along. Not the Soviets or even the Red Room, but Hydra.

Although, frankly, that really wasn’t any worse than the Red Room. Jasper had heard some of the missions they’d given Natasha and he’d had nightmares.

Jasper let out a string of curses in a mixture and Spanish and English. His mother had taught him the words on one of her trips home in between deployments. His  _ abuela  _ hadn’t approved, but Jasper had taken pride in the fact he’d been the only fifteen year old at school who could swear like a Marine.

When his phone rang, Jasper jumped. His nerves were on edge and it showed. Taking a deep breath, Jasper glanced at the screen, raising an eyebrow when he saw Blake’s name flashing on the screen. What the hell did Blake want?

“Yes?” Jasper answered, hoping this wasn’t some kind of new, fresh hell.

“No need to sound so cranky, Jas. It’s just me,” Maria said.

Jasper blinked. He’d only talked to Maria an hour ago. Of course, he wasn’t about to say that, because Hydra was no doubt monitoring his calls. They’d be stupid if they weren’t. Hence Jasper’s hidden burner phone.

“Hi,” he replied, barely remembering to sound like a lovesick idiot to maintain the cover of their affair. After all, they were only pretending to have one to cover why else Jasper was sneaking around.

“Why are you calling from Blake’s phone, my peach?” he asked a moment later, feigning confusion. If Hydra was listening then they’d damn well know the number calling Jasper, too.

(Maria hated overt sappiness. It was kind of fun to watch her eye twitch sometimes.)

“I’m borrowing it while he’s grabbing coffee and don’t call me that,” Maria said. “That’s not why I called. While Blake and I were going over some intelligence, I found a mention of that dead soldier you were tracking a while back. Marcus Johnson?”

Jasper’s heart gave a solid thump against his ribs. “Oh?” he asked mildly.

Very few people had ever managed to link the Ranger once known as Marcus Johnson to Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD, and that was a fact Fury appeared to be counting on. Jasper had found out mostly by chance when he’d overheard Phil and Fury bantering in the aftermath of a truly FUBAR mission, but now that knowledge was paying off.

“Yeah, apparently he used to stay at the Motel 6 down in Springfield,” Maria replied. “I don’t know if that means anything, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks, Mar,” Jasper said. “Will you be coming over later?”

“Not tonight,” Maria said. “Too much to do. But I’ll try and take a long lunch on Friday.”

“Okay,” Jasper said, and it took a lot more effort than usual to keep his tone light and even. “I’m looking forward to it.”

After saying their goodbyes and hanging up, Jasper just stood where he was as he let Maria’s message sink in. Fury was back in DC and he wanted to see Jasper. More than that, Jasper really wanted to see Fury, to reassure himself that Fury was still mostly okay. Fury probably didn’t need his concern, but Jasper’s feelings for his boss had been more than strictly professional for a while now. It was hardly a large sin compared to all the others Jasper had been forced to make. Nick Fury was larger than life, calm, collected and in charge, and Jasper would hardly be the first SHIELD agent with a crush. Or more than a crush, but Jasper was keeping that part to himself.

Either way, it was a problem for another day. Right now, Jasper had a bunch of evil psychopaths to stop. Grabbing his keys, he headed for the door.

<*>

_ Motel on the outskirts of Washington DC, USA _

The motel was dark but noisy, several windows lit up with light and at least two different sets of loud music filtering out. Jasper ignored most of it, his eyes scanning for threats as he headed for the room number Maria had texted him. It was risky to meet Nick in person, but Jasper was willing to chance it, just so he could spend half an hour with someone who wasn’t planning to murder him. He’d left his car hidden a few blocks away, and Jasper was pretty sure he hadn’t had a tail, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Not with fucking  _ Hydra _ .

Jasper knocked on the door three times, and a second later it cracked open. Jasper caught a glimpse of black clothes and a dark eye before Fury was stepping back enough to let Jasper slip inside.

“Hey, Jasper,” Fury greeted tiredly. He put the safety back on his gun and holstered it underneath his hoodie rather than putting it down. Jasper wasn’t sure if that was overly paranoid, or if he should prepare for trouble.

“Sir,” he greeted.

Fury raised both eyebrows. “You know you don’t have to ‘sir’ me anymore, Jasper,” he said quietly. His lips curved into the hint of a smile. “Not after you’ve sworn at me so much.”

Jasper blew out a sigh, letting some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Maybe,” he replied, “but it’s really hard not to when I respect you so much, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Nick.” Jasper’s stomach lurched. Calling Fury by his first name felt a little illicit and a lot weird, but also nice.

Jasper’s relationship with Nick was both complicated and simple. Nick had been a mentor to Jasper when he’d first joined SHIELD, all wide-eyed and a lot less sarcastic. From there, it had deepened into friendship, but then Jasper had been sent in as part of Nick’s protection detail to Sao Paulo, and the less said about that particular mission, the better. The three days he and Nick had spent on the run and separated from the other SHIELD agents hadn’t been awful, exactly, but it had ended in the bittersweet knowledge of what ‘thank fuck we’re alive sex’ felt like with Nick.

It had been both Heaven and Hell, because Nick hadn’t looked that way at Jasper again.

His gaze softening as his smile turned more genuine, Nick nodded to Jasper. “Thank you.” He waved Jasper towards the lone chair in the room, and headed towards the desk. He was moving a little stiffly, like he’d been hurt recently, and there was a bruise faintly colouring his jaw. “So, what’s your status?” he asked.

Walking over, Jasper took a seat on the bed and ignored Nick’s concerned glance and ran a hand over his head. “Everything’s pretty FUBAR right now,” he said. “And that feels like an understatement.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, moving to sit beside Jasper. The mattress dipped and Jasper found his shoulder pressed against Nick’s. “You can say that again.”

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked.

Nick smiled grimly. “Cuts and bruises,” he replied. “Nothing serious.”

Jasper hummed, because he was pretty sure Nick counted minor bullet wounds as ‘nothing serious’, too. “You know, when this is all over, I think you’re going to have to tell me everything I’ve missed,” he said. “I have a feeling it’s a lot.”

“I promise,” Nick said. “And, hey, at least you haven’t been fielding calls from Victoria Hand about what and when you knew things.”

Blowing out a sigh, Jasper nodded.  _ Fuck _ . Director Hand would be pissed right now. “Right,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “So, what are my orders?”

“Considering our last phone call,” Nick said, “I thought you were the one with the plan?”

Jasper gave a humourless chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, “but I’m making this shit up as I go along.”

Nick lay a hand over Jasper’s, stopping his fingers from twisting the material of his suit pants. His palm was warm against Jasper’s skin, his callouses somehow comforting. For a heartbeat, Jasper closed his eyes and pretended this was more than just Nick’s concern for a friend.

“You don’t have to do this, Jasper,” Nick said in a low voice. “Just say the word and I’ll get you out.”

“Actually, I kind of do,” Jasper said. “That algorithm Zola wrote? It’s a program for choosing targets for Project Insight.”

“Targets?” Nick said. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Jasper agreed. “And as far as I can tell, you can’t alter the algorithm. Or take it offline. Zola might have been a lot of things, but he was smart.” Opening his eyes, he met Nick’s gaze, smiling humorlessly. “So, if you’re going to stop Project Insight, you’re going to need spares of the Helicarriers’ control chips. We might be able to wire the Helicarriers so that Zola’s algorithm can’t actually take control.”

Nick nodded. He also took back his hand, and Jasper immediately missed its warmth. “I can think of an even better idea,” he said. “We can wire the control chips to make each of the  _ Helicarriers _ the target.”

Jasper’s eyes widened. “You can do that?” he said. “Shit.”

Nick shrugged. “I can try.”

Sighing, Jasper nodded. “There’s just one major flaw with this plan,” he added.

“You mean aside from how much you’d be risking to get those chips for us?” Nick asked.

Jasper grimaced. “Yeah,” he said. “Each of the control chips would have to be replaced manually in each of the three Helicarriers.”

“Leave that to me,” Nick said.

Raising his eyebrows, Jasper looked at Nick. Nick huffed. “I was going to see if Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff would help,” he said. He narrowed his eye at Jasper. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way.”

Jasper pressed his shoulder more solidly against Nick’s. “It’s not that I think you can’t do it,” Jasper said. “I’m just worried about what Hydra might do if they catch you.” He glanced away. “There’s something else you should know about that. SHIELD… well, Pierce, has declared Captain America a fugitive. He’s got orders out for all SHIELD agents to capture him by any means necessary.”

“You’re kidding me,” Nick muttered, but he didn’t actually sound surprised. He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Thanks, Jasper. I’ll make sure Rogers knows.”

“Thanks,” Jasper replied.

They sat in silence for a moment as Jasper tried to gather up his courage. It seemed ridiculous to be scared of asking a simple question after everything he’d faced down in his life -- both undercover with Hydra, and as a SHIELD agent -- but nerves still churned in his stomach. “I need to ask,” he said. “How’s Coulson?”

Nick let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “He’s coping,” he said finally. “I won’t say he’s doing well, because he’s not, but he’s alive. He’s had a lot to deal with since he woke up.”

Jasper snorted. “Yeah,” he agreed. Things were definitely fucked up. Even so, a tiny, tense part of Jasper eased at the news. It was comforting that Phil Coulson was still alive somewhere in the world.

“Well,” Jasper said. “There’s something else I need to tell you, and when you tell Phil, he’s going to flip his shit.”

“That sounds ominous,” Nick replied.

Jasper nodded. “It’s about the Winter Soldier,” he said. “I found out who he is. Or rather, who he was before Hydra and Zola got their hands on him.”

Nick tensed beside him. Jasper’s lips twisted with dark amusement. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he said.

“Fuck me,” Nick hissed.

“That about sums it up,” Jasper agreed dryly. “I don’t know all the details, but Rumlow told me a little. Apparently, Zola recaptured him after he fell off the train in 1945. I’m not sure if Hydra has had him the whole time or not, but Barnes doesn’t remember who he is. Hydra periodically wipes his memories and they keep him cryogenically frozen between missions.”

Nick closed his eye, his face pained. “Peggy was right,” he said quietly. “Zola was playing a longer game than we imagined.” He let out a breath. “This is going to hit Rogers  _ hard _ .”

“Yeah,” Jasper said. Losing friends was never easy, and after what happened to Coulson, Jasper would freely admit that having friends resurrected was a mindfuck, too. Let alone finding out that Hydra had been using them as a mindless assassin for decades.

Climbing tiredly to his feet, Nick headed to the large duffle bag sitting against the wall opposite the bed. “Are you sticking around?” he asked, not quite looking at Jasper.

Jasper raised his eyebrows and shrugged, even though Nick couldn’t see. “I don’t have any pressing appointments, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good,” Nick said, pulling something out of his bag. When he turned around, he held up a mostly full bottle of bourbon. “Because I sure as hell need a drink, and I figure you could use one, too.” He frowned. “I don’t have any glasses, though.”

Jasper snorted. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Well, then.” Opening the bottle, Nick took a large swallow before lifting the bottle in toast to Jasper. “To stopping Hydra,” he said. “And all their fucked up plans.”

When Nick passed the bottle over, Jasper took his own drink, grimacing a little as the alcohol burned on the way down. “To stopping Hydra,” he echoed, giving his own toast. “And saving the world.”

<*>

_ Near Capitol Hill, Washington DC _

Jasper stepped out of the frankly overpriced restaurant just ahead of Senator Stern’s security detail, feeling like his face was going into rigor mortis from all the smiling he was doing. Jasper had his own two SHIELD agents for ‘security’ -- both Hydra double-agents -- and he still hadn’t worked out if they were there just for appearance’s sake, or to make sure Jasper followed orders. Both explanations were equally plausible when it came to Hydra.

Either way, when Pierce’s name flashed up on his phone, Jasper waved them off as he made his excuses to Senator Stern, stepping far enough away to be mostly out of earshot. “Sir?” he greeted.

“Agent Sitwell, how was lunch? I hear the crab cakes here are delicious.”

Jasper blinked. That definitely wasn’t Pierce. His stomach lurched as a chill slid through his blood. This had better not be some sort of Hydra test. “Who is this?” he asked.

“The good looking guy in sunglasses, your ten o’clock,” the unnamed man said.

Carefully, Jasper scanned the crowd around him, but no one was paying him any particular attention. It was just after lunchtime in downtown Washington, though, and the street was crowded enough that Jasper could have missed something. His stomach clenched with sudden fear.

“Your other ten o’clock,” the man said dryly.

The crowds parted a little as Jasper turned, and he caught sight of the man. He was sprawled in a chair at one of the tables outside a nearby restaurant. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and he was dark-skinned, with the kind of posture that suggested he was military for all that he was wearing jeans and a leather jacket.

“There you go,” the man said.

Jasper ran through the possible alternatives of who the man might be working for. It wasn’t Hydra -- their senior agents were always white men and junior flunkies never ran ops alone. Even Jasper had constant supervision. The man wasn’t SHIELD either, which really only left one of SHIELD’s enemies. Although, most of those would probably shoot first, not ask questions.

“What do you want?” Jasper asked.

“You’re going to go around the corner, to your right,” the man said. “There’s a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride.”

A shiver went down Jasper’s spine. “And why would I do that?” he asked.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up,” the man said.

Swallowing, Jasper looked down. A small, red light was hovering over the center of his tie, and Jasper had to fight the sudden, icy clench of fear at being in a sniper’s sights. “Well,” Jasper said, anger surging through him. “I guess I don’t really have a choice.”

<*>

The man, who grudgingly told Jasper to call him ‘Wilson’, met Jasper at the car. Jasper allowed himself to be patted down for weapons and listening devices, torn between hoping his Hydra bodyguards found him and wanting to see what Wilson wanted. When Wilson was done, he waved Jasper into the passenger seat with a gun of his own. A terse and uncomfortable silence stretched between them as Wilson drove them across town, finally pulling up to a nondescript office building. Jasper swallowed down his groan because this was all a bit too eerily like Hydra. He silently followed Wilson out of the car, and then towards the fire exit.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Jasper asked.

“Why? You got somewhere you need to be?” Wilson replied, gesturing for Jasper to go first with his gun.

Jasper sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You going to tell me what floor we’re heading for?” he said.

Wilson shrugged. “The roof.”

“Really?” Jasper said. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance we can take the elevator or something, can we?”

Wilson stayed silent.

“Fine,” Jasper muttered. “I’m going.”

Jasper was sweating a little by the time they got to the roof exit, and mentally, he winced, because it was possible he was taking a few too many long lunches lately. Of course, that was hardly going to stop Jasper fighting Wilson as soon as the odds shifted a little more in his favour. He squinted a little in the sunlight after the dim stairwell, and Jasper blamed that for how long it took him to recognize the two figures waiting for him on the rooftop.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Agent Romanoff.”

The last update Jasper had heard, Natasha and Clint had still been in WSC custody. He blinked once in shock, taking in the slight pallor to Natasha’s skin and the way she’d lost weight. Jasper hoped that meant Nick had found them, although he swallowed at the faint pang of hurt that no one had bothered to tell him. “How did you get out?” he said. He scanned the rooftops, even though he’d hardly spot Barton if he was hiding somewhere. “Is Clint with you?”

Natasha cocked her head, a faint frown appearing between her brows, as if Jasper’s reaction hadn’t been the one she was expecting. Beside her, Captain Rogers glowered, folding his arms across his chest even as Wilson gave Jasper a none-too-gentle shove.

“I think we’ll be asking the questions,” Rogers said as Jasper stumbled forwards.

“You know, most people just invite others out to coffee when they want to chat,” Jasper drawled sarcastically, a bad feeling growing in his gut.

“We know you’re working for Hydra,” Wilson said, walking over to stand on Rogers’ other side.

Jasper glanced at Natasha. “Didn’t Fury get you out?” he said. “Tell you what was really going on?”

“Tell us about Zola’s algorithm,” Rogers demanded, and his face could have been carved out of granite. Jasper probably wasn’t going to get much compassion from him, despite Coulson’s insistence that Captain America was a hero beyond comparison.

“You going to promise not to punch me in the face if I do?” Jasper snapped.

Rogers opened his mouth to say something else, but Natasha’s hand on his arm made him shut it again. “Maria’s right. We can trust Jasper,” Natasha said softly.

Straightening at the implication, Jasper lifted his chin. “You  _ actually thought _ I was working for Hydra,” he said quietly. Rogers and Wilson had no reason to trust him, but Jasper had expected more of Natasha.

Guilt flashed through Natasha’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jasper. I shouldn’t have,” she replied. “I’ve just been betrayed by a lot of people recently.”

Jasper winced. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d been living with the reality of Hydra growing inside SHIELD for longer than a lot of his friends, and he also hadn’t had the WSC lock him up. He offered Natasha a small smile before glancing over at Rogers. “Well, it’s like I told Fury,” he said. “Zola’s algorithm is a program for choosing the targets for Project Insight.”

“Targets?” Rogers echoed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean people like you,” Jasper said grimly. “Me. A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange… Anyone who is a threat to Hydra. Now, or in the future.”

“The future?” Rogers said, his frown merging into something more thoughtful, and suddenly Rogers was less immovable hero and more the brilliant tactician he was rumoured to be. “How could it know?”

Jasper snorted. “How could it not?” he said dryly. “The twenty-first century is a digital book, and Zola taught Hydra how to read it.” At Rogers’ deepening frown, Jasper shrugged. “Bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola -- and Hydra -- have a way to access all of it. Zola’s algorithm evaluates people’s pasts to predict their future.”

“And then?” Natasha asked, her face carefully blank.

“And then Hydra uses the Insight Helicarriers to scratch people off the list, a few million at a time,” Jasper told her, fighting down the stomach-churning nausea Hydra’s plan always invoked.

“Fuck,” Rogers muttered.

“You can say that again,” Wilson agreed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m helping Fury try to stop them?” Jasper growled.

Wilson glanced between Rogers and Jasper. “If this intel checks out, then I might owe you an apology,” he told Jasper.

Blowing out a sigh, Jasper let it go. Working undercover was always rough, but this assignment was on a totally different level. He couldn’t really blame Rogers and Wilson for their suspicions. He nodded. “Insight’s launching in about sixteen hours,” he said, because they needed to focus on Hydra before anything else. “Fury’s got plan, but for it to work, you need to let me go.”

Rogers shook his head. “We can take you with us, use you to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly…”

Jasper cut him off with a glare. “That’s a terrible idea,” he said. “To start with, I don’t have that kind of access. Hydra doesn’t exactly trust me, even if they do think I’m loyal. I don’t have the right skin colour to be a member of the inner circle. The best I can do is give you a copy of the Helicarriers’ control chips so you can modify them so Zola’s algorithm can’t take control of the Helicarriers.” He looked Rogers directly in the eye. “But to do that, I need to be able to walk into a Hydra facility, which I can’t do unless you let me go.”

For a moment, Rogers’ jaw clenched, like he was biting back an argument. “All right,” he agreed. “But I better not find out that you’re betraying us, Agent Sitwell.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. Compared to the terror of being surrounded by Hydra double-agents, Rogers’ attempt at menace wasn’t scary at all. “Great,” he said sarcastically. “More threats. You know, I was just thinking I hadn’t heard enough of those today.”

Natasha’s mouth curved up into a tiny smile. “Be careful, Jasper,” she said quietly.

Jasper nodded. “I will,” he told her. He glanced at Rogers. “You might want to find Fury. He could use your help taking down those Helicarriers.”

Rogers nodded curtly, his shoulders stiff. Jasper rolled his eyes again, heading for the stairs. Next time he saw Phil, he was really going to question why Phil was so enamoured by Rogers, because Jasper  _ really _ wasn’t seeing it.

<*>

_ The Triskelion, Washington DC _

As Jasper exited the elevator on the R&D floor of the  _ Triskelion _ , he was surprised at the amount of agents gathered around TV and computer screens. The distraction was perfectly timed, which immediately raised Jasper’s suspicions. At least, until he caught a glimpse of what they were all watching. The news banner claimed the footage was live, and Jasper’s heart shuddered in his chest when he caught a glimpse of the  _ Winter Soldier _ .

“Fuck me,” Jasper breathed.

The Soldier was in downtown Washington, surrounded by a team of armed men, and unless Jasper had started hallucinating, he was fighting  _ Captain America _ . Shit, Jasper had only met with Rogers  _ two hours ago _ . Jasper shuddered again, gripped with fear at how unstoppable Hydra considered their plans to be letting a national icon and their pet assassin duke it out live on TV. Unless, of course, distraction was the whole point. After the fugitive Captain America had a knockdown fight with an armed team in downtown Washington DC, even the launch of Project Insight wouldn’t be big news. Jasper gritted his teeth. Hydra needed to be stopped.

Turning away from the screens, Jasper headed for the smaller of the electronic engineering labs. It was mostly used to improve and repair existing SHIELD technology, and according to the equipment lists Jasper had accessed, it held several spare Helicarrier control chips. Unfortunately, when Jasper reached the lab, two of the engineers were still diligently working on something that had a lot of wires.

Time for Plan B.

Jasper fixed a horrified expression on his face and burst into the lab like he was in a hurry. “Oh my God, have you seen what’s going on?” he said in a rush as the engineers looked up.

“Are we under attack?” one of them asked, eyes wide.

Jasper shook his head. “Captain America is fighting an armed team on national TV!”

“No way!” the engineer said.

His companion, however, looked far less shocked at the news.

“I’m gonna…” the first engineer said, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta see this.”

As he left, the second engineer regarded Jasper calmly. “You know,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be in here, Agent Sitwell.”

“Guess not,” Jasper replied.

Jasper moved forward, but the other agent was too fast. Biting back a curse, Jasper froze as the man pulled a gun out from under the table and pointed it unerringly at Jasper’s face. “Step out where I can see you,” the man said, gesturing to the left with the gun. “And don’t try anything funny.”

Grimacing, Jasper did as he was told, wondering how he’d come to be held at gunpoint twice in the same day. He held his arms out to the side, keeping a sharp eye on the double-agent. If he was Hydra, there was no telling what kind of combat training he’d had.

“Turn around,” the man instructed.

Jasper turned, arms still raised, his gaze straying to the lab windows and the faint reflection of the man behind him. The touch of cold metal to the back of his neck made Jasper shudder, but he kept his gaze steady. As the double-agent moved to pat Jasper down for weapons, Jasper took his chance. Spinning sharply, Jasper shoved the gun away from him even as he drove a punch towards the man’s face. The man twisted away, blocking the punch, but the bullet went wide, slamming harmlessly into the wall.

Jasper’s pulse leapt at the noise. He kicked out at the double-agent’s stomach, wrenching the gun from the man’s hand. Naturally, the bastard was tougher than he looked, because a second later, something heavy slammed into Jasper’s wrist, making him drop the gun. Jasper cursed at the bright burst of agony as the gun went skidding along the floor. Jasper blocked the man’s next punch, but not the second, his head snapping to the side as he tasted blood on his tongue.

“Fucker,” Jasper muttered.

“Hail Hydra,” the double-agent snarled back.

Jasper had just about had enough of that shit. Before the double-agent could attack again, Jasper swung an elbow towards his face, forcing the man back a step. Then, hooking his hand around the back of the man’s neck, Jasper slammed him face-first into the lab bench. Groaning, the man sagged to the ground, dazed. “Hail this,” Jasper said, and kicked the double-agent in the head, knocking him out.

Breathing hard, his lip and wrist throbbing, Jasper glanced around the now-messy lab. There was no hiding the fight, and Jasper was a little surprised the earlier gunshot hadn’t drawn anyone’s attention yet. Sucking in a deep breath, Jasper searched the lab as quickly as he dared, managing to grab the control chips from a shelf as loud voices headed in his direction. He needed to get out of there.

He straightened his suit as best as he could, wiping at his lip as he slipped out of the lab. Ducking towards the fire stairs, Jasper didn’t waste any time, his brain already calculating the fastest route between the  _ Triskelion _ and his nearest stash of money and fake passports.

It was time for Agent Sitwell to disappear.

<*>


	13. Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone who has read and commented on this fic. I really appreciate it <3
> 
> Also, several very smart readers have picked up on a few minor plot holes/mistakes. I'm sorry. I've been trying to beta this on my own, and a few things have snuck through. When everything is posted, I may go back and edit things, but at this stage I'm not sure I have the focus. I did want to say that I did read those comments and am aware of what I missed, so sorry!

_ The outskirts of Toronto, Canada _

Phil stood outside in the cool evening, staring up at the few stars visible in the sky. He’d tried sleeping, but after hours of the walls closing in on him, Phil had slipped outside to get a little fresh air. At least he’d managed to find some clothes in the day since they’d arrived in Toronto, even if the thick flannel shirt and jeans hung off his frame. He hadn’t had a chance to shave though, and the rough stubble itched on his jaw. Or perhaps he hadn’t really wanted to. Phil didn’t look much like Agent Coulson anymore, but then he hadn’t  _ felt _ like Agent Coulson in a long time, either.

Maybe he hadn’t really been Agent Coulson since he woke up. Maybe the Agent really had died on the Helicarrier and there were only broken parts of Phil left.

“Want to talk about it?” Melinda asked quietly, stepping up beside him.

Phil took it as a mark of growth that he didn’t jerk in surprise. Or maybe that was just the numbness that had settled over him that he couldn’t shift.

“Not really,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melinda nod. “Nick’s here,” she said instead.

Phil blinked. “He’s taking this lurking in the shadows thing a bit too literally,” he said, but the joke didn’t quite hit the light note he’d intended.

Melinda shrugged. “You know Nick.”

Blowing out a breath, Phil nodded. “I do,” he agreed. “I take it he wants to speak to me?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Melinda replied.

She hesitated, silent at his shoulder. Phil couldn’t tell if Melinda wanted to say something else, or if it was just the heartbeat echoing in his ears that made everything feel so fraught with tension. In the end, Melinda just slipped silently away while Phil kept his gaze fixed on the lights of Toronto’s skyline. All over the rest of the city people would be hurrying home from work, back to their normal, everyday lives. Leaning back against the wall of the warehouse, Phil closed his eyes. He was so tired. A numbness had wrapped around him, too, covering him in a chill fog that had nothing to do with the wind.

Hydra was out there now.

It shouldn't have been so shocking. Not after everything. Fuck, Phil had  _ died _ . That should have trumped  _ anything _ . Yet, the reality of Hydra  _ inside _ SHIELD, growing and poisoning everything, was almost too much. What little of his life he’d managed to piece back together was crumbling in Phil’s hands. He wanted to scream, long and loud, to sob and unleash the anger burning deep in his chest, but he wasn’t sure that would achieve anything. He doubted it would even make him feel better.

Instead, Phil sucked in a shaky breath and headed back inside to find out what it was that Nick needed him to do.

<*>

Phil found Nick inside with Melinda, waiting for him in the small kitchen. They were both cradling cups of tea and a third sat on the counter. Like the last time Phil had seen him, Nick wore a thick sweater underneath a battered jacket and worn cargo pants -- although this time he was wearing his customary eye patch instead of sunglasses. Wordlessly, Melinda handed Phil the third mug as he settled against the counter next to Nick.

“So,” Phil said, glancing at Nick. “What is it exactly that you need me to do?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Phil,” Nick said dryly. “I’m fine. The missile only blew me up a little bit. Thanks for asking.”

Eyes widening, Phil paused in the middle of taking a sip of peppermint tea. “Melinda said you were fine,” he said, his heart seizing in his chest.

“He is,” Melinda said, narrowing her eyes at Nick. “He’s just being dramatic.”

Nick let out a breath. “I’ve been helping Captain Rogers and Natasha track down what we thought was a ring of moles inside SHIELD,” he said. “Natasha tracked a signal from some encrypted data back to Camp Lehigh, and…” He grimaced. “We found Zola. He’d uploaded himself into a supercomputer so that he could further Hydra’s ends. Zola was the one that told Rogers and Natasha about how long Hydra had been inside SHIELD. The missile hit us as we were trying to get out.”

“Shit,” Phil swore. “But you’re okay? Natasha’s okay?”

Nick smiled grimly. “Cuts and bruises, but we’re all still standing,” he replied. Setting his tea aside, he ran a hand over his face. “Hydra’s been inside SHIELD this whole time, Phil. Jesus. How could we not have seen it? How could  _ I _ not have seen it?”

Phil sagged against the counter behind him, his knees weak. “If they’ve been inside SHIELD since World War Two, they’ve had a lot of time to cover their tracks,” he said quietly. “But really? Zola?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “And others recruited by Operation Paperclip. It’s a fucking shitstorm.”

“We’ve dealt with those before,” Melinda pointed out.

“Not on this scale, we haven’t,” Nick said.

Phil swallowed, because Nick might have a point. “You should watch out, Nick,” he said. “Garrett’s Hydra. He tried to recruit me when he led the attack on Providence Base.”

Nick nodded once. “Melinda told me about Garrett and Ward,” he said roughly, like it hadn’t been a punch to the guts to learn a man he’d  _ trained _ had turned to the dark side. “And Jasper warned me that apparently the Winter Soldier is gunning for me. You should know, Phil. Jasper’s undercover with Hydra.”

“Well, shit,” Phil said. He snorted. “At least that’s one thing we’ve got going for us.”

“So what are we doing about Project Insight?” Melinda asked in the following silence. “And Pierce?”

“Pierce?” Phil said. “ _ Pierce _ is Hydra?”

Melinda glanced at him. “Yes,” she replied.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Phil said.

Picking up his mug of tea again, Nick took a sip before answering. “Maria and I have a plan. It’s risky, but we can do it if Rogers and Natasha help,” he said. His face tightened with dark anger before he let out a slow breath. “As for Pierce, well, I’ll deal with him when I see him.”

“What do you need us to do?” Phil said.

Nick looked up. “Right now? Nothing. As far as the world is convinced, Phil Coulson is dead. I need him to stay that way. Whatever is left of the WSC or SHIELD isn’t going to be looking for you,” he said. “Besides, who better to send to fight Hydra than a ghost?”

Phil closed his eyes. “A ghost,” he echoed. Nick wasn’t wrong. Phil felt more like a spectre than the man he’d been. “Garrett will have told them I’m alive.”

“It’s a risk, but Garrett isn’t running Hydra,” Nick said. “And whoever  _ is _ will want to confirm it’s really you, which will take them time and resources.”

Melinda nodded. “It will also keep the WSC from looking for us,” she added. “As well as whoever they send after SHIELD when all this comes to light.”

Phil let out a shaky breath. He hadn’t considered that, but it was inevitable. If Hydra really was rising out of the shadows, then even if Nick and the others stopped Project Insight, the world would still find out about Hydra. And the first thing the World Security Council would do was send someone to gather up whatever remnants of SHIELD were left. To quarantine the infection, no matter how many innocents they locked up in the process. That was what they’d done to Clint and Natasha, after all.

“I’ll need a team,” Phil said. “Melinda and I can’t fight Hydra on our own.”

What Phil really wanted was to have Clint at his back, but that wasn’t possible right now. Phil just hasn’t realized how much that ache would hollow out his chest.

The corner of Nick’s mouth quirked upwards into a faint smile. “I thought you’d already gathered one,” he said, nodding at the rest of the warehouse where Trip, Skye and Mack were sleeping. “You know I hate not knowing things, Phil. We need to find out what the hell is going on so we can help keep the world  _ safe _ . Just like we swore to.”

Breathing deeply, Phil considered the idea of a handful of SHIELD agents going against Hydra. The first thing they were going to need was intel -- right now they were flying blind. They had no idea how far Hydra stretched, how many agents they had or where they were based. Hydra wouldn’t be the only problem either, but Phil couldn’t deny the rush of  _ hope _ at the idea of being useful again.

“If I do this, Nick, if  _ we _ do this, then there’s a good chance we’re going to end up working against what’s left of SHIELD. Not to mention whoever the WSC sends after us,” Phil said. “Once we start running, we’re not going to be able to stop. Not until this is all over.”

“It’s what we signed up for,” Melinda said. Phil glanced over at her, catching the determination on her face and the anger in her eyes. “To protect those who couldn’t do it for themselves.”

She was right. When there was no one else, they were supposed to be the shield between the world and those that wanted to harm it.

“What about Clint?” Phil asked, the ever-present pain in his chest spiking at the thought of Clint being out there somewhere without anyone watching his back.

“He’s one of those people we need to protect,” Nick said. He reached over to squeeze Phil’s shoulder. “Just think about it. You don’t need to make any decisions right now.”

Phil huffed. “You already know what my answer is going to be, Nick,” he said. “It’s the same one it’s always been.”

Nick’s hand tightened on Phil’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said roughly. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t do this without you, Phil.”

Phil nodded, smiling faintly. “Just remember that goes both ways, Nick.”

“I promise,” Nick said.

<*>

Not long after the meeting in the kitchen, Phil retreated back outside with a second cup of tea. It was colder now, but hiding away outside was probably the closest to privacy Phil was going to get. A plan was beginning to form in his mind, but it wasn’t the kind of plan Phil could order people into following. Taking on Hydra was serious, the kind of serious that everyone might not survive. Phil swallowed. He was no stranger to death, even excluding his own. People had died under his command, but every time he thought of Skye or Trip, he was reminded just how young they were.

Letting out a slow breath, Phil leaned back against the wall of the warehouse. There was one thing Phil wasn’t questioning -- he was going to do this. He couldn’t let Nick wage this war on his own, just like he couldn’t sit back and let Hydra try to destroy the world in the name of their fucked up ideals. Innocent people were going to get hurt, and Phil was going to do his best to stop that from happening.

Phil had pulled out his phone before he was entirely aware what he was doing, the number to Clint’s burner already half dialled. The urge to tell Clint his decision was almost overwhelming, but Clint had disappeared for a  _ reason _ . Phil should respect it, give Clint time to lick his wounds and heal, but even so, he couldn’t stop himself. Pressing the last number, Phil held up the phone and listened as it rang three times before it connected. “Hi, Clint,” he said softly. “I’m not sure where you are, but I hope you’re safe. That you’ve found somewhere to… to hide, I guess. Or whatever you’re doing.”

Sliding down the wall, Phil slumped to the ground and pulled his knees up against his chest. “I don’t even know if you’ve heard about Hydra,” he said, setting down his mug so he could wrap his arms around his legs. “That they’re… They’ve been inside SHIELD from the start, rotting away at the core of everything. People we fought beside, bled with, are  _ Hydra _ .” He sucked in a breath. “Garrett’s Hydra. He tried to shoot me, but Melinda saved me. Shit, Clint. We were supposed to be the good guys.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Phil closed his eyes. “Part of me hopes you haven’t heard yet, because right now I feel like I can’t breathe, and I’d protect you from this if I could.” Clint had been betrayed by so many people. He didn’t deserve this. “But I want you to know that I’m going to fight them, fight Hydra. I’m going to put my second chance to good use, like you did after Nick recruited you.”

Phil’s voice caught, the words sticking in his throat, but they were  _ important _ . He needed to say them, even if Clint would never hear them. “I’m not sure I have your strength, Clint, but I’m going to try. And I’m sorry that I’m not coming to find you right now, that I’m not tearing the world apart until I can see you again. I want to. You have no idea how much I want to, but I can’t. Not while Hydra is out there and innocent people are going to get hurt. They need to be stopped, and I’m not sure anyone outside of SHIELD knows what Hydra is capable of. I have to try to stop them.”

A tear slid down Phil’s cheek as he swallowed heavily, and he brushed it away. “Just… take care of yourself. Please,” he whispered.

Deep in his chest, Phil’s heart fractured a little more, but he’d sworn an oath. The world had to come first. And maybe, just maybe, after it was saved, Phil might get a chance to put his heart back together again.

<*>

In the morning, Phil went to find Skye. As much as he wanted to curl up and lick his wounds for a while, he’d made a choice. He had to keep going, put one foot in front of the other, until he could drown out the raw ache underneath his ribs.

He knocked softly on the doorframe leading to the area Skye had claimed for herself. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t be until they found a better place to hide, but Skye had still made herself at home as much as she could.  Skye herself was curled up on a pile of blankets, her laptop open and hooked into the warehouse’s wiring. She was wearing an oversized sweater which looked like one of Mack’s, and her hair was pulled messily away from her face.

“Hey,” Phil greeted.

“Hey, Phil,” Skye said, looking up from her laptop. “Do we have the command to go?”

Phil shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I’m actually here about something else.”

Skye blinked, her eyebrows rising slightly. “Oh?”

“I know no one uses the ‘hacking’ word, but I need your skills,” Phil said. He swallowed. “I need a favour.”

Smiling faintly, Skye waved around at her little corner. “Well, Phil, step on into my office,” she said, but her eyes were pinched at the corners. “What do you need?”

Phil straightened his shoulders. “I need intel,” he said. He pulled a small USB from his pocket. “And I need you to get it from the secured SHIELD servers.”

Skye raised her eyebrows, her dark gaze flicking between the USB and Phil’s face. “The SHIELD servers?” she echoed. “Okay. That’s not a big deal or anything.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smile. “The USB contains a programme that activates a back door through the security measures. It should be enough to give you access,” he said.

“And where did you get that?” Skye asked. “You can’t exactly pick up a programme like that at Walmart.”

“Nick gave it to me,” Phil said.

Skye blew out a breath. “I’ve told you that you guys are scary, right?” she muttered. She nodded once, reaching out to take the USB. “Okay. So what am I looking for?”

Phil cleared his throat. “ Before you do this, there’s something you should know,” he said. “Nick can find you a place to hide out, but if you do this, there’s a large chance that the people who tried to kill us at the base will come looking for you.”

“You mean Hydra,” Skye said grimly. She shrugged, glancing back down at the laptop screen. “Like they’re not looking for me already?” she said. “Before we got out, one of them -- Ward -- came looking specifically for me. And I get the feeling he’s not just going to stop.”

An icy jolt ran through Phil’s stomach, guilt rising up like bile in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. It was Phil’s fault Skye was stuck in this mess.

“No,” Skye said. “Don’t. I made a choice in that diner, and I’m making the same choice now.” She looked up at him, jaw set and her fear reflected in her eyes. “I’m in this, Phil. I want to help.”

Phil breathed out a sigh of relief. If the world was different, Skye would have made an amazing agent. Maybe she still would. “Thank you,” he said. “We need anything you can find that has to do with Project Insight, and any mention of the word ‘hydra’. There may not be much, but pull every file you can.” He caught Skye’s gaze, his face settling into grim lines. “And be careful. Most of those files will probably be booby-trapped.”

“Well, I can definitely say that hanging out with you is never boring, Phil,” Skye said dryly. “Terrifying, yes, but not boring.”

“Thank you,” Phil said.

Skye nodded. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”

Phil nodded back, leaving her to it.

<*>

A soft knock brought Phil out of his thoughts, and he glanced up from the intel Nick had managed to gather on Hydra. Phil blinked, the blur of surveillance reports and flight manifests receding from his mind. His eyes were gritty and now that he was aware of it, a dull headache throbbed at his temples. He had his Starktab and a few mismatched files spread out around him. It wasn’t much, but it was all Phil had right now.

Melinda arched her eyebrow, walking over to place a mug of coffee beside his elbow. “How are you doing?” she asked.

Phil sighed. “I think I’ve got something, but it’s not much,” he said.

Skye had found him a little while ago and handed him a copy of the passenger lists of three flights leaving Toronto Airport just after the attack on the Providence Base. Garrett hadn’t used his real name, of course, but Skye had found the passport photo and alias he was using.

“That’s not what I asked, Phil,” Melinda said levelly.

Phil sighed. “I’m focused on the mission,” he said, because it was true, even if that wasn’t the answer Melinda was looking for, either. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“What about Clint?” Melinda asked, her face pulling down into a faint frown. “Are you still looking for him?”

Glancing away, Phil clenched his hands into fists before very deliberately relaxing them. “Clint is a survivor,” he replied. “Hydra is the priority right now.”

Melinda let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “You can do two things at once, Phil,” she said, a hint of reproach in her voice. “Going after Hydra doesn’t mean we have to give up on Barton.”

Phil swallowed down a snarl, hot, sharp rage rising up to tangle in his throat. “I’m not giving up on Clint,” he growled.

“Aren’t you?” Melinda said, ruthlessly making her point.

“ _ No _ ,” Phil snapped. He wasn’t. He had every intention of finding Clint as soon as the ground was a little more solid under his feet. Maybe when he felt a little more like the man he used to be, and not a ghost. Hydra just had to be the priority for now.

Melinda eyed him for a moment and nodded once. “See that you don’t,” she said in a low voice.

“I thought I’d find you two here,” Nick said, and Phil glanced up to find Nick standing in the doorway. “And you complain that  _ I _ don’t sleep.”

Phil offered Nick a wan smile that he didn’t really feel. “Funny,” he muttered.

Nick studied Phil, his mouth pulling down into a frown. “I know I’ve already asked this, but are you sure you’re ready for this, Phil?” he said. “It wasn’t that long ago that you were…”

“Dead?” Phil finished.

He huffed. What Nick was asking him to do wouldn’t be easy, but the things Nick was asking of himself were even harder. Even so, Phil had meant what he’d said when Nick had asked him -- this wasn’t a fight he was willing to back down from. “We might only be three former SHIELD agents with no resources, no satellites and very few friends, but we  _ can _ do this.”

“Not just three,” Nick said quietly, wry humour reflected in his gaze. “I asked Trip, Mack and Skye to join us. I think it’s about time you told them what’s going on.”

A knock at the door interrupted Phil’s reply, and he glanced over to find Trip just outside the door, Mack just behind his shoulder. “Come in,” Nick said.

The two men filed in, Skye just behind them. Skye had brought her laptop, and she immediately set herself up in the corner, eyes fixed on the screen and fingers typing out commands. Trip and Mack had both changed clothes since Phil had seen them last, now dressed in jeans and t-shirts that would help them blend into a crowd if they needed to.

Phil glanced over at Nick and raised an eyebrow, but Nick just smirked back. “They’re your team,” he said.

Letting out a breath, Phil looked over at Skye and Trip. “I’m going after Hydra,” he said bluntly before he cut his eyes to Melinda, who nodded back silently. “ _ We’re _ going after Hydra,” he corrected. “And we could use some help.”

Skye snorted, glancing up from her laptop. “I thought I already said I was with you, Coulson?” she said archly.

Trip’s gaze flickered to Skye and then back to Phil. “I’m in, too,” he said.

“Before you agree, you should know that there’s no turning back after this,” Phil warned quietly, the weight of his own decision sinking into his bones. “Once Hydra knows you’re against them, they won’t just let you go. And the WSC might send people after us, too.”

“If the alternative is letting Hydra go unchallenged, then I know what my choice is,” Trip said. The set of his shoulders was tense, his jaw clenching. “Besides, I owe them one for what they did to my partner.”

Phil nodded. Trip was a good field agent and Phil had been hoping he’d say yes. He glanced at Skye. “The answer’s still yes,” she said.

“And you Mack?” Phil asked.

Mack hesitated, glancing between Phil and Nick. “I’m not sure I can,” he said. He shifted on his feet before he straightened, setting his jaw. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going with Director Fury when he leaves. I want to stay and help you take down Hydra, but I have to know that Izzy and Bobbi, uh, Agents Hartley and Morse, are okay.”

Phil nodded, a bittersweet longing mixing with the ever-present guilt sitting low in his stomach. “I understand, Mack,” he said softly. “I hope you find them.”

And Phil really did. Not just because both Isabelle Hartley and Bobbi Morse were amazing agents and formidable fighters, but because there was at least a little justice in the world if Mack could find his friends.

“Thank you, sir,” Mack replied.

Phil scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not sir,” he said. “Not anymore. Just call me Coulson. Or Phil if you’d like.” He gave Mack a bitter smile. “I’m no one’s boss anymore.”

Mack narrowed his eyes as he studied Phil. “That’s where you’re wrong, Coulson,” he said. “You may not be my boss, but you are someone I’d follow.” His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Give Hydra hell for me, okay?”

Phil swallowed, nodding once. “We will,” he agreed.

The room fell into a tense silence, and even Skye’s fingers stilled on her laptop. “Okay,” she said finally, waving her hand at Phil. “What happens now? I’m assuming we can’t just go up to Hydra’s front door and knock on it. I mean, do they even have a front door?”

“Not exactly,” Nick said, a trace of amusement in his gaze.

“They’ll be gunning for us,” Trip said. “After Providence.”

Skye grinned, but the expression was brittle. “So we don’t let them catch us,” she said.

“It’s not that simple,” Melinda warned.

Phil took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs just like Melinda had taught him. “You can’t kill a ghost,” he muttered, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. He glanced up at Nick and gave his old friend a wry smile, and cleared his throat. “Hydra can’t fight what they don’t know is there, so we need to be invisible.”

Melinda narrowed her eyes, her gaze flicking between Phil and Nick. “I’m not going to like this plan, am I?” she said.

Straightening his shoulders, Phil let the familiar patterns of a mission brief settle over him, and for a second, he almost felt like his old self again. “There’s one thing that Hydra can’t fight, one thing they don’t know  _ how _ to fight -- good people doing the right thing, no matter the cost,” he said.

Images of Clint’s smiling face flashed through Phil’s mind, of Natasha curled up on the couch in his office helping him with mission reports. Of Nick stealing the last donut and giving Phil half, of Maria and Jasper and Melinda and the rest of SHIELD. Phil locked every one of those moments away in the corner of his heart to remind himself what he was fighting for.

“According to SHIELD, I’m already dead,” Phil continued. “So now all the rest of you need to do is vanish.”

“That easy, huh?” Skye said dryly.

Phil raised both eyebrows. “You can alter the SHIELD databases, scrub all of the aliases associated with both Melinda and Trip’s files,” he said. “Remove all evidence of who we are and where we’ve been. That way, even if Hydra goes looking, they won’t know who to be looking  _ for _ .”

“No one else will, either,” Melinda said quietly, but it wasn’t meant as a criticism. “Hydra isn’t going to stay in the shadows forever. Eventually, the WSC is going to send someone to clean up what’s left of SHIELD.”

Phil nodded, because that was only a matter of time. “And by then, we’ll be long gone,” he agreed.

“Sounds like a plan, sir,” Trip said with a nod.

Nick smiled darkly. “Hydra will never see us coming.”

<*>

Twelve hours later, after Nick had left, Phil was debating whether or not he should try to grab a couple of hours sleep, when Skye interrupted his train of thought. “Woah, Coulson, you need to see this,” she said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure  _ everyone _ needs to see this.”

“See what?” Phil asked, his voice scratchy with the exhaustion dragging at him.

She glanced up, her brown eyes wide. “There’s, um… Look, I found some chatter, so I followed it to one of those live news feeds. Everyone is suddenly talking about how the  _ fugitive Captain America _ just took down  _ three SHIELD Helicarriers _ ,” she breathed.

Skye spun her laptop screen around and Phil’s heart froze in his chest. On the screen, the remains of one of the new SHIELD Helicarriers was slowly crashing into the Potomac, fire and smoke trailing into the sky behind it. To the left, the footage had just caught the edges of the two other Helicarriers  _ firing at each other _ . None of it made sense. “What… that…” he said.

“I know,” Skye said. “But it’s real. I checked. Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed faintly.

“That’s not all,” Skye added. “There’s reports of a guy  _ with wings _ out there.”

Fury had told him the basics, how after the Battle of New York, SHIELD had fast tracked three new Helicarriers to help in case of another invasion. Of course, none of that explained why the  _ Triskelion _ was going down in flames. Literally. “Hydra,” Phil whispered.

He’d known, vaguely, what Nick had been heading back to DC to do, what Hydra was planning. Nick had given him that much, but he still hadn’t  _ believed _ .

Skye nodded gravely. “Yeah,” she said. “This is what Nick left to do, isn’t it?”

Phil’s lips curved into a humourless smile. “Without a single doubt,” he said. He glanced away from the footage, up into Skye’s dark gaze. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“Yeah, of course,” Skye replied. She jerked a hand towards the door. “I’m just going to go tell the others about this. It seems… this is big, right?”

Phil closed his eyes for a second, his eyes burning. “Yeah,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m pretty sure this is the destruction of the organization I’ve spent half my life fighting for.”

“Fuck, Coulson, I’m sorry,” Skye said. “And wow, could that be any more of a lame thing to say? Shit.” She paused awkwardly as Phil fought to keep his emotions under control. “Uh, I’ll go tell Melinda and everyone. Just… if there’s anything I can do, just ask, okay?”

“Thank you, Skye,” Phil said roughly.

“Okay,” Skye said, climbing to her feet with her laptop. She hesitated for another few seconds before she headed out the room and, as much as Phil appreciated Skye’s attempts, he didn’t exactly want company.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Phil sucked in a shuddering breath. Garrett and the Hydra attack on the Providence Base should have been enough evidence to show that Hydra was a threat to everything, but somehow Phil hadn’t fully understood what that  _ meant _ . The cold, harsh reality of Hydra growing inside SHIELD. At least, with the Helicarriers going down, there was a good chance Nick and Captain Rogers had struck a blow back for the good guys. Phil really hoped Pierce had the chance to watch his plans fail before Nick shot the bastard.

At the scuff of a footstep in the doorway, Phil glanced up. Melinda stared back, her face pale and her eyes dark. “The  _ Triskelion _ is down,” she said, her voice rough.

“Yeah,” Phil said, sighing. “I saw.” He tried to force a smile, but it wouldn’t come. “This is a fucked up universe Nick brought me back to.”

Melinda snorted, walking over to lean against the desk next to Phil. “In Nick’s defense, I don’t think he realized how fucked up it was,” she said.

Phil nodded. That was the truth. If Nick had found out about the scope of this fuckery, he definitely would have fought harder to stop it. “And I thought finding out about Garrett was bad,” he said.

“It was,” Melinda said bluntly. “This is just worse.”

Huffing out a watery laugh, Phil squeezed his eyes shut again. The warmth of Melinda’s hand settled on his arm, and took the silent comfort that was offered. “We have to keep fighting, though,” he said. “We have to survive.”

“We will,” Melinda said softly. “And then we’re going to kick some serious Hydra ass.”

The words were so like Clint’s that for a moment, Phil almost crumbled. He ached to lean on Clint’s strength, to have Clint’s irreverent presence at his shoulder, cursing and  _ alive _ . But Clint wasn’t there, and Phil would just have to learn how to deal with the crushing weight of this on his own.

“Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes to nod at Melinda. “We will.”

<*>


	14. Clint

_ Davenport, Iowa _

Clint wasn’t sure he knew which way was up anymore.

Everything was spiralling out of control, slipping through his fingers like sand. The world was fracturing around him, cracking in time with the sickening pounding of his heart against his ribs. After Bobbi had told him the truth, Clint’s old instincts had reared up and he’d just run, vanishing into the night. With everything that was going on, he didn’t think Bobbi or Izzy would come looking for him, but he’d hidden his tracks as he’d gone to ground anyway. He’d had to.

Phil was  _ alive _ .

Even two days after the news, it still wasn’t sinking in. After Loki, after New York, after fucking  _ Hydra _ , it seemed impossible. Phil had  _ died _ . It didn’t matter that Clint had seen far more insane things. Hell, it didn’t even matter what Nick had done to bring Phil back. Clint didn’t deserve another chance, not after everything he’d done, but not even the twisting, aching guilt could stop it hurting like hell.

There were only two things Clint was good at in life -- killing and betraying those he cared about. For a while, it had been nice to pretend otherwise, to pretend he could keep SHIELD and Phil and Natasha, but reality had crashed down on Clint again, leaving him broken and bleeding in the rubble. Maybe it was time to face the fact that Clint was better off as a weapon and nothing more. Maybe he could go back to being a mercenary, do what little good he could by taking out the assholes too evil to live. Only, these days, that was Hydra, wasn’t it? At least, that was what SHIELD would say, if any of it was left.

It was that restless urge that stopped Clint just finding a place to drink himself into oblivion. Instead, he found himself on the border between Illinois and Iowa, breaking into his old lock up. He’d first signed the lease three months after he’d been abandoned by the circus, just after the reality of Barney’s betrayal had sunk in. He’d been young and scared and all alone for the first time in his life, and Clint had left the few precious things he had in a lock up with a battered roll down door.

Over the years, Clint had added fake passports and documents to the stash, along with cash and better security to keep an eye on things, but this was probably the only place on the planet that held the true history of Clinton F. Barton.

There was a layer of dust over everything left scattered across the shelves and storage crates Clint had left behind. He hadn’t been there since before SHIELD had recruited him -- there’d been no need. Clint should just grab some money and passports and go, head out of the US, find somewhere he could forget about being Agent Barton. Forget Hawkeye. Maybe then the blistering, tearing agony in his chest would disappear long enough for Clint to catch his breath.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Clint hissed, slamming his fist into one of the shelves.

The bright flash of pain in his hand distracted Clint from the ever-present burn of tears, even as a whole pile of junk clattered to the floor. Glancing down, he spotted the black handled, thin-bladed sword lying among the tangled rope and old clothes. Clint swallowed. He hadn’t thought about that sword in  _ years _ . It wasn’t quite a Japanese  _ katana _ , but it was close. The sword and its pair had been a gift, one of the few links Clint had wanted to keep from the circus. It wasn’t one of Duquesne’s -- the Swordsman had always favoured a heavier broadsword. Clint had learned to use the heavier sword almost as well as his bow, but he’d never liked it, and the Swordsman had never really liked Clint. Those hadn’t really been memories Clint had wanted to cling to.

Crouching down, Clint ran a finger down the length of the sword’s blade. It was still sharp enough to slice Clint’s thumb, and the leather grip felt achingly familiar in his palm. It was the kind of sword that almost deserved a name, but Clint had never asked if it had one. Swords had never sung to Clint the way his first bow had, but there was a certain breath-taking and ruthless beauty in watching a sharp blade cut through the air.

He brushed away a length of tattered black material to reveal the paired blade, and for a second, Clint could have sworn his nose was filled with the scent of jasmine and incense. Maya had always smelled like that, even surrounded by the thick scent of popcorn and hay in the hot, humid air of the Swordsman’s caravan. She’d found Clint one day, trying to wash the cuts and bruises Duquesne’s latest beating had left him with.

Clint closed his eyes, picturing the all-black clothes she’d worn, the smooth swing of her long dark hair and the knowing laughter in her eyes. She’d been one of Clint’s first true friends and before she’d disappeared as mysteriously as she’d arrived, she’d given Clint a pair of swords and the whisper of the name ‘Ronin’. 

Clint had looked into the rumours after he’d become a mercenary -- Ronin had been a myth, the assassin with no master that no one could outrun. It had given Clint strength when he’d needed it, the idea that Maya was Ronin. If she could see something of worth in a scrawny orphan, then maybe Clint could too. He’d remembered her, too, when Nick Fury had stumbled across him and given him the pitch for SHIELD, hoping Maya would have been proud.

Maybe Maya could give him strength one more time.

Clint had no idea where she was, or even if she was still alive. No one had heard from Ronin in years. But the thing about ghosts like Ronin was that they never died, not completely. They could be resurrected, ready to reemerge from the shadows and hunt down those deserving of punishment. People like Hydra. Clint couldn’t handle being Hawkeye right now, facing the truth of the shattered world -- and the shattered heart -- he’d left behind, but maybe he could be Ronin instead. Clint Barton had lost his heart and his freedom, but Ronin hadn’t. Clint could start again, become someone new. Someone who couldn’t be hurt. A warrior with no master, a man in a mask who would hunt down every single member of Hydra who was still breathing.

And then he’d make them pay.

<*>

_ Somewhere over Europe, 35,000 ft _

The darkened cabin of the plane was quiet around Clint, most of the other passengers trying to sleep. Clint should probably be doing the same, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him. His anger was burning deep in his stomach, making his skin itch. Sucking in a breath, Clint rubbed the knuckles of his left hand as he tracked the movements of the flight attendants. They were getting ready to serve breakfast, which meant the plane would be landing in Romania soon. The destination wasn’t random -- Clint might not have the same tactical genius as others, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d have been dead long ago if he was.

After watching the destruction of the  _ Triskelion _ on TV, it hadn’t been hard to find the threads. The footage of SHIELD’s collapse had been splashed across every news network in the country, the carnage repeated on a loop in all its technicolour glory.

So far, Clint had pieced together most of it. Alexander Pierce was probably dead, but Rumlow had definitely survived. Clint had tracked the remaining members of S.T.R.I.K.E. to Oradea, Romania. The Hydra base wasn’t large -- it seemed to be mostly a bolthole for Rumlow and his buddies to recover -- but it was a start. It wouldn’t take much to take them all out, either. Not for someone like Ronin.

Putting a few bullets in lying Hydra double-agents sounded pretty good to Clint.

They had it coming. And maybe, just maybe, dealing with Hydra would stop Clint’s thoughts circling back to Phil and Natasha and Bobbi. How he was letting them all down. How he was supposed to be better than this. And maybe then, the dull ache in his guts would go away.

<*>

_ Oradea, Romania _

The rain pounded heavily on the roof, drowning out most of the sound from the streets outside. The old warehouse Clint had set up as his base was drafty and a bit broken, but it was fitting. Clint was more than a little broken now, too. He’d dragged an old mattress into the corner for when the exhaustion got too much, a nest where he could shove his back against the wall and pretend he didn’t jerk awake at every sound. Not even the defenses that Clint had wired all over the warehouse helped.

He’d equipped the place with a good computer system, designed to alert him if anyone crossed the perimeter, because as soon as ‘Ronin’ reappeared in the world, things were going to get messy. Weapons and gear were spread out across several abandoned benches, and Clint had even set up a small area in the corner to work out and maybe gain back a little of the muscle he’d lost in WSC captivity. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. The whole place almost reminded Clint of his old merc days.

The lingering traces of smoke were familiar, too. Clint’s fingers itched, but he refused to let himself reach for his battered pack of cigarettes. They wouldn’t help with the churning mixture of guilt and anger writhing through his stomach. Instead, he tucked his hand inside the sleeve of his hoodie, rubbing his thumb over the raised lettering of Phil name on his dogtags. He’d kept them, even though he couldn’t bear to wear them anymore. Clint wasn’t sure why, he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw them away. Phil would probably want them back, anyway.

Clint still wasn’t sure what Nick had meant when he’d given the dogtags to Clint. Nick had said something about holding on and needing to talk to him later, but Clint hadn’t really been paying attention. Everything after Loki’s influence had been knocked out of his head was a blur of exhaustion and grief.

Nick would have tried to give Clint a message, though, because that’s the kind of man Nick was. His thoughts shied away from exactly  _ what _ message, because thinking about Phil’s “death” hurt too much. Clint felt like he’d only just adjusted to the cold, harsh reality of Phil being gone and the idea that he was never coming back. The revelation that Phil was  _ alive _ had set fire to his universe like a bomb dropped from orbit.

Scrubbing a hand over his head, Clint sighed. This was why he’d left Hawkeye behind. Ronin didn’t care that Phil Coulson was alive.

Clint glanced towards where Maya’s swords lay gleaming in the dim light coming from the computers. For all that Clint had decided to leave Hawkeye behind him, he was finding it hard to let go, even with SHIELD going up in flames. SHIELD had been his family.

Swallowing, Clint pulled out his burner phone, blinking a little as the screen lit up. He stared at it, fingers hovering over the keypad and the number of one of his old message services hovering in his mind. He set up enough money in an account under an alias that it should still be running, but Clint wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen to any messages anyone had left.

He hesitated long enough that the screen of his phone went dark again before he’d made a decision. Blowing out a sigh, Clint tapped the screen and then dialled the number. It was better to know if Nick was going to come looking for him before it happened. The phone rang three times and Clint carefully typed in the code to unlock the messages.

“ _ You have thirteen new messages _ ,” the electronic voice informed him.

“Shit,” Clint breathed. Nick had been looking for him after all.

There was a soft beep. “Hey, Hawk,” Nick’s rough, recorded voice said in Clint’s ear. He sounded like shit. “Things are really fucked up, aren’t they? I’m leaving this message here in the hope that you might find it at some point, if I don’t find you first. I know the WSC kidnapped you. I don’t know where they’ve taken you and Natasha, but I know it was them.” Nick let out a breath. “I’ll find you, Hawk. I promise. I’m going to find you both. And when I do, there’s something I  _ really _ need to tell you.”

A faint beep signalled the end of Nick’s message. Judging by the raw exhaustion in Nick’s voice, he must have left it just after Clint and Natasha had been grabbed -- a week, maybe two after Loki’s attack on New York.

Clint rubbed his face again, his hand shaking. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Hawk,” Nick said, his voice gravelly as the second message began. “If you ever hear this, don’t go back to SHIELD.” There was a muffled sound Clint didn’t recognize, and Nick cleared his throat. “You should take a holiday. Go north. That old place we used to visit.”

Clint couldn’t stop his snort as Nick hung up. His chest warmed with wry humour at Nick’s less than subtle message directing him towards Nick’s hidden base in Ontario. He’d only ever visited it once, playing bodyguard to Nick at Maria’s insistence. Nick hadn’t grumbled as much as Clint had expected on that trip, and now Clint knew why. Nick was always looking after his people.

There was another beep. “Barton,” Maria Hill said. The clipped tone was Maria at her most ruthlessly efficient, and Clint swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. Clint hoped that Natasha had found her. “Jesus, I hope you hear this. We’re still looking for you and Tasha, but the WSC isn’t making it easy. If you two assholes rescue yourselves before we can, come and  _ find me _ . Don’t be a dick and drink yourself to death first.”

Clint almost smiled at Maria’s message before sending her a silent apology. He wouldn’t be going back, not yet.

There was another faint beep before the next message began to play. “Clint.” The sound of his name hit Clint like a punch to the gut. Phil’s voice was rough and raw and nothing at all like the smooth commands of Agent Coulson.  _ No _ . Clint didn’t want to hear this.

Before the message could keep playing, Clint snatched the phone away from his ear and threw it as hard as he could. The phone smashed against the wall, shattering into shards of plastic and glass. Clint’s chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp, shallow pants as his heart pounded against his ribs. Tears burned in his eyes, but Clint stubbornly squeezed them shut. Even so, Clint couldn’t stop the sob that wrenched itself from his throat, his shoulders hunching as he tried to curl away from the pain.

_ No _ . Phil didn’t get to do this. He didn’t have this kind of power over Clint anymore. Not after Phil had  _ died _ .

“Screw you, asshole,” Clint growled, gathering the old, bitter anger of Clint the mercenary around his shoulders like a cape. Except, Clint wasn’t that man anymore. Nick and Phil and SHIELD had helped smooth away his rough edges and show Clint the kind of man he could be.

Except, a man like that didn’t run away, so maybe he wasn’t that kind of man after all.

Clint sucked in a deep breath, squeezing his hands into fists so they wouldn’t shake. The sound of Phil’s voice saying his name echoed in his head, but Clint ignored it. “Screw you.”

<*>

_ Hydra Base, Romania _

Crouched on the roof opposite the Hydra base, Clint checked his gear for the final time. He wore a version of his old field uniform -- black pants with armoured knees, a black t-shirt under a tac vest, black gloves, and a mask that covered the lower half of his face. His swords were sheathed on his back, and a gun was strapped to his thigh. He was as ready as he would ever be to take on Hydra, and Clint wasn’t sure the burning anger bubbling under his skin would let him stay out of the fight for much longer.

He’d been watching the base for the last few hours. The building itself wasn’t much to look at, but it was surrounded by a high metal fence and enough security to give Clint pause. There hadn’t been much movement, but Clint had spotted several sentries and guards. Even if Rumlow and his team were long gone already, there would probably be enough information inside to give Clint his next target.

Taking a deep breath, he headed for the edge of the building and the rooftop path that would lead him inside the fence line. Despite the security, there were enough old shipping containers and balconies for Clint to have a clear path to one of the outer buildings without being seen from the ground. He snorted. So much for Hydra being  _ better _ than SHIELD. Coulson would never have stood for that shit--

Clint cut himself off, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his chest. He rolled his shoulders before sprinting forwards and leaping off the edge of the roof. He cleared the fence easily, landing softly on a stack of old shipping containers, and rolling forward to take part of the impact on his shoulder. Grunting as one of his sheathed swords pressed painfully into his shoulder muscle, Clint came up into a crouch and made a mental note to shift the way he carried his weapons if he was going to keep doing acrobatics. Scanning the darkness, Clint marked the positions of the guard patrols, keeping up a steady count in his head until his position would be compromised.

Pushing up to his feet, Clint ran left, jumping up to grab at the metal frame of an old crane as he swung himself forward. His booted feet hit the side of the building first, but Clint twisted forward and grabbed the splintered railing before heaving his body over. The small balcony ran the length of the building, curving around the side in front of a wall of half-broken windows. The floor had partially rotted away, but Clint jumped over the decaying sections as he aimed for the open window at the corner. Below him, a guard patrol turned the corner just as Clint slipped into the darkness of the building itself.

The inside of the building was musty and damp, with the faint trace of rotting garbage hanging in the air. Clint was on the second floor, which was little more than a small platform wrapping around three quarters of the space. Below him, was the large open floor of what might once have been a barn, and in the middle was a high stack of boxes. Some of the boxes were covered with tarps, but the dim light was enough to catch the A.I.M. logo painted on the sides of several crates.

His eyes watchful for movement, Clint headed for the office just above the stairs leading down to the ground floor. A sharp kick splintered the flimsy lock, but Clint caught the door before it could slam. He wasn’t worried about hiding his tracks, but he also didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. Not yet, anyway. That would come later, because Ronin’s reappearance in the world was only useful if someone  _ saw _ .

The office was mostly empty, scattered with several piles of papers. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a computer anywhere in the room, so Clint would have to try his luck with the main building if he wanted access to more intelligence. It didn’t matter. He’d planned for that.

Scanning the papers, Clint grabbed a few that looked promising, folding them up and sliding them inside his tac vest. A quick search proved there was nothing else of interest hidden in the small office, so Clint headed back out and down the stairs. Just outside the door was a handily placed pile of empty crates, which would help hide Clint from the closest patrol. He crouched down behind the crates at the crunch of approaching footsteps, freezing in the shadows as two guards walked close by.

Fortunately, neither of the men glanced in Clint’s direction, and as soon as they turned away, he drew a matte black knife from its hidden sheath. Briefly glancing around, Clint rose, his boots almost silent as he crossed the distance to the guards as quickly as he could. He wrapped a gloved hand over the first guard’s mouth and sliced the man’s throat, quick and neat. The second barely had time to turn before Clint killed him, too.

Despite the path his life had taken, Clint had always hated killing. Even when they were Hydra supremacist assholes. His stomach coiling with nausea, Clint caught the dead weight of the body as it slumped, and sheathing his knife, he dragged it behind the nearby crates. Then he did the same with the second body.

Pausing, Clint gazed around the base again, but none of the other patrols had spotted him yet. With the new gap in security, Clint had a path to the main building -- or what Clint hoped was the main building. If he wanted Rumlow and some answers, that would be where he’d find them.

Keeping to the shadows, Clint ignored the way the cool night air was seeping in through his clothes and made his way towards his objective. If he concentrated really hard, he could pretend he didn’t miss the painful pinch of a comm unit in his ear and the calm level voice that came with it.

As fast as he dared, Clint slipped from the shadows of one building to the next, easily avoiding the remaining patrols. A few security cameras were dotted around the place, but Clint didn’t spare them much attention. Even if they caught a glimpse of him, no one would link the masked man with Clint Barton, because Clint Barton had disappeared three months ago.

Spotting movement to the right, Clint drew another knife as he sank deeper into the darkness he was crouched in, his gaze fixed on three figures moving towards the door of the main building. The breath froze in Clint’s lungs even as ice slithered down his spine. The man in the lead was tall, heavily muscled and dressed in black, and Clint would recognize that gait anywhere. Jack Rollins.  _ Fuck _ . Clint had  _ trained  _ with that bastard. It should have been obvious that if Rumlow was Hydra, so was the rest of his S.T.R.I.K.E. team, but it was still a kick to the guts to see Rollins giving orders to a pair of Hydra goons. And judging by the way they were all warily staring at the sides of buildings, they’d spotted the sudden hole in their guard patrols.

Oh, well. Maybe it was time for Clint to let them know he was here.

There was a dark SUV parked to the side of the building, and Clint grinned, sharp and mean. Once Rollins and the goons were out of sight, Clint crept forward, diverting right towards the car. With a final glance around to make sure he was alone for the moment, Clint put his back against the SUV and pulled out a knife to pry open the fuel tank. Then carefully, he slipped a small amount of C4 and a detonator out of one of his pockets. He set the timer for ten minutes, hoping it would be enough, and then expertly placed both the C4 and the timer inside the fuel tank.

Like the last building, Clint didn’t bother looking for a door or window on the ground floor. Instead, he took a running leap up onto the hood of the SUV and over the roof. Another three steps and Clint was leaping for the drainpipe running up the side of the building. It was easy for Clint to use his old circus skills to shimmy up the drainpipe until he was level with the third storey. From there, he stepped out onto a nearby window ledge, his back pressed to the wall.

“Nothing to it,” he breathed, even as his heart gave a lurch in his chest. Heights had never bothered him, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to realize the danger of being twenty-five feet of the ground.

A slight breeze ruffled his mask, and Clint shivered, sweat cooling on his skin. He peered in the window at what he hoped was some sort of dark office, but when he tried the window, it was locked. Normally, Clint would have jimmied the lock, but that was a lot harder to do while he was standing on a narrow ledge. He glanced up, gaze drifting over to the next window along, and he smiled sharply at the way someone had left it open a crack. It was shoddy security, if you asked Clint, but at least he could get in that way. The gap between the two ledges wasn’t far, and taking a deep breath, Clint hopped over.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Clint crouched down slowly to wedge his hand in the open crack of the window before shoving it upwards. The frame slid easily, and seconds later Clint was dropping down silently to the floor inside. Just like before the office was dark and deserted, and a quick glance proved there was nothing useful for Clint to find. He headed for the door instead, peering careful out into the corridor for any patrolling guards before he slipped out.

The second office he found actually looked inhabited, and Clint breathed out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been looking forward to trying further downstairs for what he wanted, because Rollins and his goons were somewhere inside. Spotting a laptop, Clint stepped forwards, ignoring all the paper files and scattered gear. Flipping open the screen, he booted up the laptop, his eyes trailing over the room while he waited.

The top stack of paper files were inventory lists, but then Clint came across a pile of folders with the SHIELD logo in the corner. This time, the painful spike of betrayal was a little blunter, but it still hurt. Clint didn’t dare turn on any lights, but the dim glow from the laptop was enough to read some of the files. Most were lists of old SHIELD assets -- safehouses, weapons stores, document drops. Even without Hydra, Clint couldn’t use that information, but maybe Rumlow or some of the other Hydra assholes were considering it. Grabbing as many files as he dared, Clint shoved them into the space between his tac vest and chest and turned back to the laptop.

It took Clint six tries to break through the password even though it was only a basic system, which was why he usually let Natasha handle that part. She was so much better at it. Gritting his teeth, he ruthlessly shoved all thoughts of Natasha aside. He couldn’t afford to think of his best friend right now, and not just because she’d smack him on the back of the head for what he was attempting. Not having Natasha beside him was like an ache that wouldn’t quit, a pain that would never go away. He missed her  _ so much _ , and the reasons for not going back to her -- to the remains of SHIELD -- were looking shakier with every minute. Maybe one day soon, the spectre of Phil Coulson would stop haunting Clint, but at least Clint could take down a few Hydra assholes first.

Plugging in the flash drive he’d brought with him, Clint entered the commands to have the hard drive copied, just as his mental countdown hit the one minute mark. He was probably cutting it close, but what was life without a little risk? Clint snorted softly to himself as he watched the progress bar move agonizingly slowly across the screen, but it had probably only been forty seconds before the copy was complete. Grabbing the flash drive, Clint made his way over to the window that looked out over the front of the building.

Ten second later, a large explosion erupted, forcing Clint to close his eyes and turn his head so as not to get blinded. When he opened his eyes again, the SUV he’d rigged with C4 was nothing more than a wreck. Not bad for a distraction. Shouts echoed from outside and through the building as men began streaming outside to see what was going on. One or two of them actually stumbled into the others as they tried to avoid the pieces of hot metal now falling from the sky. Clint shook his head. “Amateurs,” he muttered.

Securing the flash drive in a pocket, Clint raced out the door to the office. He needed to get out while everyone was still distracted, because it wouldn’t take long for the alarms to start blaring. As if on cue, a siren began to sound a second later. Pushing himself into a sprint, Clint hit the door to the back stairs, sending it crashing open with his shoulder. He no longer cared about being quiet or subtle -- now that he had what he wanted, it was time to let Hydra see him as the threat he was. Or rather, the threat Ronin was.

Clint drew one of his swords right before he hit the ground floor, and he shoved open the door, expecting resistance. Instead, he’d barely caught a glimpse of the room before a large weight crashed into his side, sending him sprawling with a grunt. Pain flared in his ribs and across his chest as hands roughly grabbed his waist, even as Clint attempted to twist and roll away from the attack. In the tumble, Clint lost his grip on his sword, which went skittering across the floor.

Without hesitating, Clint kicked backwards, catching something soft with the heel of his boot. The man let out a pained gasp, his grip easing for a second, but a second was all Clint needed. Twisting his upper body around, Clint freed enough space to go for one of his knives and came up slashing.

Jack Rollins staggered backwards, his hand reaching for the bloody cut on his cheek. “Well, well, look what we have here,” he said.

Clint didn’t say anything in reply. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Rollins as he climbed to his feet. Anger burned through his blood, itching and throbbing under his skin. Clint wanted to make Rollins  _ bleed _ , to hurt him for betraying SHIELD. He wanted to yell and curse and ask  _ why _ , but Clint also wasn’t about to give Rollins the satisfaction, so he gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut.

“What’s with the mask?” Rollins asks snidely. “Don’t want me to see your pretty face?”

A second later, three Hydra guards burst in shouting. Rollins’ head whipped to the side, and Clint took advantage of his distraction. Three steps to the right took him close enough to scoop up his sword, and then he was sprinting for the nearest window, barely managing to get his hands up to cover his face as he crashed through it in a shower of splinters and glass.

Clint slammed into the muddy ground with a cut-off cry. Forcing himself back to his feet even as pain flared across his body, Clint tasted blood on his tongue and felt a warm trickle dripping down from his hairline. Unfortunately, Clint had exited through a window close enough to the charred remains of the SUV that there were shouts of anger and alarm coming from two directions at once. Clint needed to get out of there  _ fast _ . Sheathing his sword on his back, Clint drew his gun and took off towards the fence at a run, pushing his body as fast as he dared.

Cutting around yet another pile of crates, Clint skidded around the corner of the building, his eyes scanning the night for the best chance he had at an exit. Running blind wasn’t exactly an effective defense. He’d planned multiple escape routes while he’d been watching the building, but most of them were useless now. Clint was used to that -- he couldn’t count how many SHIELD missions he’d been on where their extraction had relied on a handily placed window or explosion. The gunfire behind him was getting louder, and Clint had to jump sharply to the left when two bullets whizzed past his foot.

“Stop!” Rollins yelled. “Or the next one goes through your head!”

Raising his arms to his side, Clint slowly turned around. Rollins was holding a gun pointed straight at Clint, and Clint had seen Rollins on missions and on the range -- if Clint tried anything, Rollins wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his promise. Arching an eyebrow, Clint watched Rollins coolly, staying silent, mostly because it would unnerve the other man.

“Who the hell  _ are  _ you?” Rollins snapped.

“The name’s Ronin,” Clint replied, his voice little more than a rough growl.

Rollins narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck?” he said.

Clint didn’t bother repeating himself. Instead, he kicked out at a nearby half-broken crate, sending a shower of splinters towards Rollins as he grabbed his gun. The goons behind Rollins opened fire and Clint dived to the left, his own bullet just clipping Rollins in the shoulder. Luckily, Clint’s shot threw off Rollins’ aim, and his answering bullet kicked up mud to Clint’s right. Clint shot two of the goons before Rollins surged forwards in a rush, and Clint rolled back to his feet, holstering his gun. Pivoting sharply, he grabbed Rollin’s gun, twisting it out of Rollins’ grip, only to drop it when Rollins sent a heavy punch straight into Clint’s stomach.

Clint stumbled at the blow, barely avoiding the kick Rollins sent towards his knee. In retaliation, Clint slammed a hand into Rollins’ nose, grabbing for one of his knives. He didn’t want to risk going to his gun with Rollins this close, not with the kind of training Rollins had.

Catching sight of the knife, Rollins spun, snarling, and kicked out at Clint’s knee, this time sending Clint crashing to the ground. As Clint fell, he reached for the gun holstered on his thigh, but Rollins was faster. Clint watched in icy horror as Rollins staggered backwards, Clint’s own gun in his hand. He was just bringing the gun up to aim at Clint again when his chest was hit by two gunshots, the echo deafening.

Swallowing, Clint lifted his gaze to his rescuer, his eyes going wide when he saw Jasper Sitwell’s angry, terrified face. Jasper still had his gun raised, and Clint blinked, because the two remaining Hydra goons were also dead. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Jasper was exhausted, dark stubble covering his jaw and a cap on his head. He was even wearing contacts rather than his more familiar glasses, but even so, it was undeniably him.

“Jasper?” Clint said before he could stop himself.

Jasper jerked, his gaze snapping to Clint’s. “Hawk?” he replied incredulously. He lowered his gun, but Clint still caught the deep look of betrayal in Jasper’s dark eyes. “Fuck, you have about three seconds to promise me that you are not Hydra.”

“I’m not,” Clint said.

Part of him, that part that was still Agent Barton, wanted to assure Jasper that he wasn’t Hydra and would never be, but the more ruthless part of Clint was reminding him to  _ move _ . The gunshots would be like a beacon to their position, and while Clint usually loved knowing exactly where the enemy would converge, not knowing from which direction they’d come was a big problem.

“What?” Jasper hissed. “That’s it?”

Clint grabbed his gun from Rollins’ body, holstering it. The shouting from the main building was getting louder. “We need to move,” he said.

Jasper reached out, seizing Clint’s arm. “What happened to you?” Jasper asked, searching Clint’s eyes with his own.

“Now is hardly the time, don’t you think?” Clint snapped sharply, but he didn’t stop Jasper when the other man moved to follow.

“Fine,” Jasper agreed as they ran. “But we will be talking about this later, Hawk.”

Clint couldn’t stop the snort. “My name’s not Hawk,” he snarled, shooting Jasper a glare as they hit the fence. “So if you’re looking for Hawkeye, you might as well leave now.”

Jasper opened his mouth to reply, but glanced over his shoulder at the sound of gunfire. Together, they scaled the fence, although Jasper didn’t quite manage it with Clint’s grace. From there, it was easy to disappear down the twisting side streets until they reached Clint’s stolen getaway car. Clint was actually impressed Jasper had bothered to tail him for so long, but Jasper had always been a loyal friend.

“Hawk,” Jasper said, reaching out to grab Clint’s arm again.

Still aware of how close the Hydra base was, Clint shook him off and pulled off his mask. “Don’t,” he warned.

“I’m coming with you,” Jasper said and there was no arguing with him. Truthfully, it might be nice to have a friend to help watch his back.

Nodding once, Clint turned to the car. “Then get in,” he said.

Part of Clint wanted to leave Jasper where he stood, if only to save himself from the well-meaning questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, how much worse could things get?

<*>


	15. Melinda

_ Toronto, Ontario _

Melinda May strode into the small room Phil had commandeered as his work space. As expected, Phil was hunched over his desk, dark shadows under his eyes and his face drawn and lined. Melinda couldn’t deny she was worried. Phil’s emotions might have been back under control, but he couldn’t keep the pain out of his eyes. Not completely. Waking up after dying had hardened him in a way none of his years at SHIELD had ever managed, and it sent the echo of pain through Melinda’s chest. Some things just changed you irrevocably, but that didn’t mean she was about to let Phil keep brooding about it.

“You need sleep,” Melinda said, studying him critically. He still needed to put on weight and muscle -- and stop skipping meals -- if he was going to take on Hydra.

Phil didn’t jump at the sound of Melinda’s voice, but his shoulders tensed up. “I’m fine,” he said gruffly, not shifting his gaze away from the piles of reports on the desk.

Melinda snorted. Phil wasn’t fine. That was obvious, but there was also no arguing with him when he got like this. Stepping up to the desk, Melinda rested her hip against the edge and folded her arms across her chest. “Do you know where we’re going next?” she asked.

Phil sighed. Straightening, he rubbed a hand over his face, letting some of his exhaustion slip through the mask he was trying so hard to hold up all the time. He wasn’t at his best, but Melinda understood better than most the reassurance of clinging to what was familiar.

“I sent a message to Agent Koenig,” Phil said. “Nick swears Eric and his brothers are on our side.”

“And you trust that?” Melinda said. She trusted Nick, but Nick had sworn Garrett had been on their side, too. Hydra had been rooted too deep in SHIELD for even Nick to see, and Nick was hurting because of it.

“I have to start trusting people sometime,” Phil said dryly. “Koenig said he could get a list of old SSR bunkers that were still intact. I thought we could use some of the smaller ones that people had forgotten about for safehouses.”

Melinda nodded. “We’re going to have to watch the fallout from Project Insight,” she said. “The US government and whatever remains of the WSC are going to send someone after SHIELD.” She frowned. “They won’t be the only ones. There’s still a possibility of the UN sending in a team if Hydra makes itself a big enough threat.”

Phil sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I know.”

“We need a plan, Phil,” Melinda said. The revelation of Hydra had hit them all hard, but Melinda wasn’t just going to sit around and dwell on it. If she did, she’d keep thinking about all the danger Nick was in, or how no one had heard from Jasper.

Quirking an eyebrow, Phil grimaced. “Surviving isn’t enough of a plan?” he said. “What about finding Hydra and burning them to the ground?”

Melinda really agreed with that sentiment. “And how are we going to find them, Phil?” she asked.

Phil narrowed his eyes, and something inside Melinda eased. Good.  _ There _ was a glimmer of Agent Coulson. As much as Phil was hurting right now, if they were going to take the fight to Hydra, they needed Phil to be at his analytical, calculating best.

“You’re right,” Phil said, his gaze flicking back to his files on the desk. “The problem is that we don’t have much to go on. It’s hard to tell where SHIELD’s resources stop and Hydra’s start.” He flashed Melinda the ghost of a wry smile. “I was hoping Skye was having better luck.”

Melinda nodded. “I’ll speak with her.”

“Thanks,” Phil said.

Melinda paused, torn between leaving Phil to it and trying to push him towards sleep. Phil couldn’t keep going like this -- none of them could. Even if it was a luxury they couldn’t afford, they needed to find a base where they could recuperate for a few days. Supplies wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Talk to Agent Koenig, Phil,” she said. “If Skye finds any leads on Hydra, we’re going to need a base and gear.” She pushed away from the desk as Phil nodded. “And then get some sleep,” she ordered.

Phil’s lips curved up in that ghost of a smile again. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

<*>

When Melinda looked in on Skye, she found the hacker wide awake, reading something on her laptop. At Melinda’s knock, she glanced up with wide eyes, her whole body jerking. Melinda raised both eyebrows.

“Hey there, Agent May,” Skye said brightly. “What can I do for you?” She hit several keys on her keyboard in quick succession, hiding whatever she’d been looking at.  _ Interesting _ .

“Coulson said you were looking into anything Hydra related in the SHIELD database?” Melinda said.

“Yeah, well, kinda?” Skye replied. “It’s not that simple. The ‘backdoor’ Coulson got from his friend gives me access to the servers, but if I spend too long in the SHIELD system, they’re still going to notice I’m there.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like I can just type in the word ‘Hydra’ and all their secrets come spilling out.”

Melinda nodded, well aware that finding out what Hydra was up to would take time. “Just do what you can,” she said. “Has Coulson passed on the list of suspected agents yet?”

“Yeah, I have it,” Skye replied. She glanced away, her mouth pulling down into a grimace. “It’s just taking a while to go through.”

“Are you okay?” Melinda asked. Despite all her skills, Skye wasn’t a trained SHIELD agent and she’d been pulled into this without knowing what she was getting into. That would be tough for anyone.

Skye looked back at Melinda, but her smile was forced. “Yeah, it’s just… I talked to some of those guys, you know? Flirted with one of them, only he’s evil, even if he did have great cheekbones.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing, though. Not compared to finding out the people you worked for were Nazis.”

Letting out a breath, Melinda walked over so she could sit down beside Skye on her bunk. “You mean Ward,” she said, because she’d noticed Skye spending time with Garrett’s protege.

Skye huffed, shutting her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. Blinking open her eyes again, she looked over at Melinda. “It’s kind of creepy now that I know the truth. I just… you know, I’m a little jealous of your whole Zen warrior thing right now. It would be nice not to feel like I needed twenty hot showers because I let Ward hold my hand.”

Melinda arched an eyebrow. “You think my ‘Zen warrior thing’ means I don’t feel?” she asked. It was true that Melinda rarely let her feelings show on her face, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have them. Not that Skye would be the first person to think Melinda was more robot than person.

“Well,” Skye drawled, giving Melinda a side-long look. “You do kind of resemble a statue… sometimes. Or maybe the Sphinx.” She shrugged. “If I were you, I’d be furious.”

“I am,” Melinda said. There was a boiling knot of rage burning deep in her chest, and Melinda wasn’t even sure taking down Hydra would make it go away. “I  _ am _ furious. But I’m sure as hell not going to waste it on a tantrum.” She fixed Skye with a sharp look, her voice deepening to a growl as some of that anger slipped past her control. “I’m going to mine it, save it… and then, when we find the double-agents that betrayed SHIELD, when we find Hydra, I’m going to  _ use _ it. Every little bit, and I’m going to take all of them down.”

“Okay, now I wish I knew how to use that kind of hate-fu,” Skye said. Her attempt at a joke would have worked better if not for the pain and the faint trace of longing in her eyes.

“I’m up most mornings at five,” Melinda said, because she wasn’t a stranger to wishing to belong somewhere. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Thanks,” Skye said. “I just might.”

Nodding, Melinda shifted so she could see Skye’s face better and arched an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said. “Now do you want to tell me what it is you’re trying so hard to hide?”

Skye’s eyes widened. “Hide? I’m not… okay, it’s just a little side project. Nothing that messes with the whole Hydra thing.” She tried to smile, but Melinda wasn’t buying it.

“It’s important to you,” Melinda pointed out.

Shutting her eyes, Skye grimaced. “It’s not as bad as it looks, okay?” she said. Tapping a few keys, she turned the laptop around so Melinda could see.

The screen was filled with partially redacted documents and files, all bearing the SHIELD logo. “SHIELD files,” Melinda said. She raised her eyes to Skye’s. “What’s the connection?”

Skye pushed the laptop away so she could bring her knees up to her chest. “That’s everything I have… on who I am,” she said, her voice breaking on the last words. “Because apparently everything about me boils down to about three sheets of paper.”

Skye’s voice trailed off, her gaze fixed on the sheets of her bunk. The way she was hugging her legs to her chest made her look younger than her years, but it was the pain Melinda glimpsed in her eyes that really tugged at Melinda’s heart.

“I grew up in the Saint Agnes Orphanage,” Skye continued, her lips curving up into a smile with very little humour in it. “They gave me the name Mary Sue Poots. I  _ hated _ it.” She swallowed. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to find any details I can about my parents. Who they were. Why they left me… It’s why I learned how to crack systems, why I joined the Rising Tide…”

She glanced up again, her eyes flicking to Melinda’s and then away again. “But I couldn’t find anything. No details, no records. There’s no trace of my parents, except for one document that I managed to find. It’s pretty redacted, and there’s not much to go on, but it’s…”

“From SHIELD,” Melinda interrupted, putting the pieces together. “That’s why you came with Phil when you had the choice. Because you knew he was connected to SHIELD.”

Skye jerked her head up, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not the only reason, you know,” she said. “I mean, I won’t deny that it crossed my mind that Coulson might be able to lead me to answers about my parents, but… he was looking for his friends, and he needed my help. Even if he hadn’t worked for SHIELD, I still would have helped him.”

Melinda studied Skye as Skye stared defiantly back. She was telling the truth. Besides, Phil had always had a sixth sense about useful people with great potential, and Skye definitely fit that description. “Have you found out anything more from SHIELD?” Melinda asked.

Shrugging, Skye dropped her gaze again. “A little? I know my birthday, at least. I mean, my real one,” she said.

“If we can manage it, we’ll have to get you a cake,” Melinda said.

“What, really?” Skye said, eyes wide. “You’re not mad I’m hacking your secret files?”

Melinda allowed her lips to twitch up into a smile. “They’re hardly my files,” she said. “And I can’t blame you for wanting to learn about your past. Just, be careful, Skye. You might not like what you find.”

“It can’t be worse than what I’ve imagined,” Skye said quietly.

Reaching out, Melinda covered Skye’s hand with hers and squeezed. “If you need any help, just ask,” she said. “And I meant what I said about joining me in the mornings.”

Skye smiled. “Thanks, Agent May,” she said.

“Melinda,” Melinda corrected. “To friends, I’m Melinda.”

Blinking, Skye bit her lip and glanced away. Nodding, Melinda rose to her feet. There wasn’t anything else she could do here until Skye either found something, or asked for her help. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said.

“Thank you, Melinda,” Skye whispered after her.

<*>

Sighing, Melinda swept her hair back from her face and tried to blink away the gritty feeling in her eyes. Her sleep had been fitful at best, and she couldn’t exactly have her customary cup of green tea with supplies what they were. She’d have to encourage Phil to move locations soon -- the warehouse was already acting less like a temporary safehouse than Melinda liked. Staying much longer would be risky.

Intending to tell Phil exactly that, Melinda headed towards where he’d commandeered the desk in the old warehouse office, only to raise her eyebrow when she found Trip and Skye in mid-conversation with Phil.

“Oh, Melinda, good,” Phil said when he spotted her. “Skye and Trip have figured out where Garrett’s gone.”

Melinda raised her other eyebrow to join her first. Finding Garrett was good news, but Melinda wasn’t about to let their mission morph into a vendetta. “And where is that?” she asked.

“Havana,” Skye said, her eyes bright. “In Cuba.”

Trip nodded. “I worked with Garrett for a long time,” he said. “And he was always pulling something that he kept hidden. I don’t think it was always Hydra stuff either, but I caught a glimpse of a manifest once. From a company called Advanced Idea Mechanics.”

Melinda blinked. “A.I.M.?” she said, sharing a glance with Phil. Unless she was mistaken, that was the same company that Iron Man had taken down a few weeks ago.

“Yeah,” Trip agreed. “And here’s the real kicker -- A.I.M. is still making shipments. I managed to ID a number of them that ping-ponged across the globe via Brazil, Cambodia and Syria… and they all ended up in Havana.”

Closing her eyes for a second, Melinda let out a breath. “SHIELD used to have a base in Havana,” she said. Her stomach clenched. “Now it’s Hydra’s.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “Fortunately, it’s not a big base. There’s probably only enough space for Garrett and Ward and a few others.”

Skye huffed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t actually matter how big the base is,” she said. “All I need is a connection to Hydra’s secure network.”

Melinda blinked. “That sounds like you have a plan?” she said.

“I do,” Skye replied. “I haven’t exactly had a long time to build it or anything, so it’s not fancy, but I’ve got… well, it’s like a Trojan horse, really.” She shrugged. “Basically, if I can upload it to a Hydra computer, it’ll copy itself from computer to computer and map out their entire system if you give it enough time. Then all we have to do is wake it up and activate it.”

“And how do we activate it?” Melinda asked.

Skye pulled out a small memory device. “With this,” she said. “All I have to do is plug it into a computer.”

Holding back a sigh, Melinda glanced at Phil, who nodded back. “I guess we’re going to Cuba,” Melinda said.

<*>

_ Havana, Cuba _

Travelling to Cuba wasn’t as easy as it sounded, mostly because Melinda couldn’t just fly them all there in a quinjet. They’d ended up bribing the captain of a fishing trawler, and while the accommodations hadn’t been bad, Melinda had spent the trip with far too much time to think. At least now that they were on the ground in Havana, Melinda had other things to occupy her mind, even if she was stuck cooling her heels in a hotel until Skye finished putting the last touches on her Trojan horse.

Letting out a breath, Melinda resisted the itch to pace throbbing under her skin. Instead, she dug out her burner phone to see if Nick had finally left her a message. Worrying had tightened her stomach until it was in knots, and Melinda  _ hated _ her inability to help Nick if he got into trouble again. Particularly since the Winter Soldier might still be on his tail. Not that Nick needed her help exactly, but Melinda was still stubbornly refusing to acknowledge why she was so worried.

Nick had been her friend and never let being Director of SHIELD come between them. When Melinda had requested to be taken out of the field, Nick had supported her without question. Jasper had been a good friend, too, and with both of them fighting Hydra, it was understandable that Melinda was worried about them. There had been moments when Melinda was almost convinced Nick had wanted something more than friendship between them, but if Nick had felt that way, he’d never acted on his feelings. Part of Melinda was happy he hadn’t, because for a long time after her divorce, she hadn’t wanted any sort of romance in her life. And besides, Melinda was pretty sure Nick had ended up with some sort of arrangement with Jasper, anyway, at least based on the rumours she’d heard.

“Nick still hasn’t texted back, huh?” Phil’s soft voice said, breaking into Melinda’s spiralling thoughts.

Melinda glanced up, irritated at being so easy to read, even if it was only Phil. “I’m sure everything is fine,” she said.

“Nick can take care of himself,” Phil agreed.

He lifted up the tray of take out cups as he stepped the rest of the way into their shared hotel room. Trip was outside somewhere, keeping watch, and Skye sat in the corner, headphones on, as she typed away at her laptop. Walking over, Phil handed Melinda one of the cups, and when Melinda pried the lid off, she was pleasantly surprised at the scent of strong black tea. “Thanks,” she said.

Phil nodded. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked, taking a sip from his own cup.

“It’s not mission related, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Melinda told him.

“I’m worried about  _ you _ ,” Phil said. “You asked me to help you get back into the field, so I’m here if you need to talk.” He shrugged, his small hint of a smile bittersweet. “Besides, I’m your friend, Melinda.”

Melinda let out a breath. If anyone would understand how she felt, it would be Phil. Phil might have given himself over to the mission, to destroying Hydra, but his concern for Clint was hovering, ever-present, like a spectre he just couldn’t shake.

“After Bahrain, there were a lot of rumours about what happened -- and about me. And despite everything, I never actually stopped caring,” she said. This wasn’t something she’d really talked about before, but maybe it was time she did. “If anything, I cared too much, so I pushed it away and tried not to think about it.”

Phil leaned in to press his shoulder against hers, as if to remind Melinda that wasn’t alone. “No one blames you for that,” he said. “At least, no one who matters.”

Melinda turned her frown in Phil’s direction, because that hadn’t been what she’d meant. “It’s not that,” she said.

Phil smiled, just a bitter twist of his lips. “It’s trying to figure out how to open up again?” he said, his gaze flicking away from her to rest on the window. “I get it. There is a reason why I’ve never told Clint how I feel.”

Sipping her tea, Melinda gave Phil a moment with his thoughts. “It’s not just that, either,” she said finally, trying to choose the right words to reflect how she felt. “I think I might be too late?”

“Are we talking about Nick?” Phil asked. “Or Jasper?”

Melinda blinked and arched an eyebrow. She couldn’t help it. Phil might be a master tactician and an impressive handler, but he was usually about as good at picking up on non-mission related emotions as a turtle.

Phil shrugged. “Maria may have gotten drunk and mentioned something,” he said. “Before… Pegasus and everything else.”

That sounded more plausible. Melinda let out another breath. “I don’t actually know the answer to your question,” she admitted. “I just can’t stop worrying about both of them, more than I’m worrying about anyone else.”

“There’s no rule that says you only have to care for -- or love -- one person,” Phil said softly.

“Perhaps not,” Melinda agreed. “But I do have a personal rule about not getting in the way of other relationships.”

Phil’s brow furrowed. “Other relationships?” he echoed.

“Nick is sleeping with Jasper,” Melinda told him. “I’m just not sure if it’s on a casual basis, or something… more.”

Phil choked a little on his sip of coffee. “They’re what?”

“Sleeping with each other,” Melinda said. At least according to rumour, but at SHIELD rumours were usually correct. The disadvantage of working with spies.

“I, uh…” Phil said, glancing at her. “Nick’s never mentioned that to me.”

Melinda shrugged. “It’s hardly important,” she said. “But it doesn’t stop my worry.”

“It  _ is _ important,” Phil said. “You don’t have to sacrifice what you want just because you’re taking care of everyone else. You shouldn’t  _ have _ to take care of everyone else.” He glanced away again. “I know… I’ve been more of a burden than an asset recently. But I’m trying not to be. I’ve made my choice, Melinda, and I’m going to try to live up to it.”

Reaching out, Melinda rested her hand on Phil’s arm. “You do what you can, Phil. It’s all we can ever do.”

Phil covered her hand with his free one. “Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “I guess so.”

<*>

The warm Havana sun beat down on Melinda, causing her to squint despite her sunglasses. The air was thick with humidity, and sweat prickled uncomfortably between Melinda’s shoulders, sliding down her back. Stakeouts were never comfortable, but after six hours in the sun, Melinda’s temper was fraying.

At least she had a little relief now that she’d taken refuge at a little outdoor cafe. Phil, sitting a few tables away, didn’t look much better. His shoulders were stiff underneath his linen shirt, his skin flushed a faint pink where his shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the undershirt underneath. Sunglasses and stubble helped hide his face, but the straw hat on his head was not something Phil should ever be allowed to wear in public again.

Melinda felt slightly better with the knowledge that Trip was up on a roof somewhere, keeping watch over them, and that Skye was monitoring both them and the base on what limited security cameras she could find and hack into. It wasn’t quite a full SHIELD team as backup, but Melinda had faith in them. Nick had managed to send what little gear he could -- it wasn’t much, but they had comms and Melinda was armed with a Glock under her shirt. Nick had managed to send a sniper’s rifle, too, which meant Trip was watching them -- and the old barber’s shop -- through a scope.

Sighing, Melinda took a sip of her drink. Materva was something she’d only ever drunk in Cuba, but she’d developed a taste for it. “Are we even sure Garrett is still in there?” she asked, keeping her voice low and hiding her lips with the rim of her glass.

“I haven’t seen anyone leave,” Phil said, his voice crackling over the comms. “Has anyone else?”

“No,” Melinda replied. She paused, something catching her eye as Trip and Skye echoed her negative. “Wait. The woman on the edge of the square to my left. Is that who I think it is?”

“Bobbi,” Phil said. “Shit.”

“Wait, who are we looking at?” Skye asked, but Melinda was already moving.

She left money to cover her drink tucked beneath the glass, and rose casually to her feet. “I’m in pursuit,” she said, cutting through Phil’s explanation to Skye.

Ducking through the crowd, Melinda headed towards where she’d seen Bobbi Morse. Bobbi’s blonde hair was caught in a loose braid, her jeans, white shirt and aviators blending in with the other tourists, but she was scanning the people around her like she was searching for something. When she caught sight of Melinda, Bobbi’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn and flee. Instead, she paused, jerking her head to a shadowed alley nearby. Melinda nodded back once, her hand straying closer to where she’d stashed her gun as she followed the other woman.

“May,” Bobbi greeted carefully, her hands held away from her body, palms open.

The gesture was nice, but Melinda didn’t let down her guard for a second. She’d seen Bobbi take out armed guards too many times to believe the feigned innocence. “Bobbi,” she said levelly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Bobbi replied.

“Well, someone’s going to have to start talking first,” Skye drawled in Melinda’s ear.

When Melinda just remained silent, Bobbi sighed, her lips twisting down in a wry frown. “I’m not Hydra,” she said. “I’m here tracking missing SHIELD agents. We got a message a few days ago from several agents who said they were going to hole up in the barbershop and wait for extraction.”

Inwardly, Melinda grimaced. This was not going to end well. “Who’s we?” she asked.

“Izzy and a few others,” Bobbi said. “We’ve been monitoring most of the old SHIELD emergency channels, trying to get the word out to all the agents who were on missions when Hydra…” She gestured a little helplessly. “Well, you know.”

“I do,” Melinda agreed. “And we might have more of a problem. Garrett and his protege, Ward, have control of that base. If your missing agents are in there, they’re either Hydra, or…”

“Dead,” Bobbi finished. “Shit.”

“Do you have a team with you?” Melinda said.

Bobbi shook her head. “No, it’s just me and Agent Simmons,” she said. She smiled faintly. “Jemma volunteered in case the agents needed medical attention, but she doesn’t have much field experience.”

That explained why Melinda wasn’t familiar with the name. She bit back a sigh. “I don’t like this,” she muttered.

Bobbi glanced towards the mouth of the alley. “Are you…?” she said. “Is Coulson here with you?”

Melinda nodded. “Why?”

“No, I just…” Bobbi swallowed, looking back at Melinda. “I saw him after he just woke up. He wasn’t… I mean…” She huffed. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Acutely aware that Phil could hear every word she said, Melinda shrugged slightly. “He’s coping,” she told Bobbi. “It’s all any of us can do.”

Bobbi smiled wryly. “I guess so,” she agreed. “Well, that and I’m pretty on board for the destroying Hydra plan,” she said. “Need any help with that? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Phil?” she said.

“I won’t say no to the help,” Phil said in Melinda’s ear.

It took Bobbi less than a second to realize Melinda was on comms, and when she did, she huffed. “So he heard all of that, huh?” she said dryly.

The corner of Melinda’s mouth curved up in a smirk. “Looks like you’re in,” she said. “Let’s go get Simmons.”

<*>

They didn’t end up going very far. Bobbi led Melinda a few streets over to another outdoor cafe, where a brown-haired woman was fidgeting nervously with a paper napkin. She glanced up as Bobbi walked over, but to her credit, she only let a glimmer of surprise show on her face before she turned away again. The pretense wouldn’t fool many, but Melinda respected the attempt.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a place where we can go and talk?” Bobbi asked quietly, her gaze never stopping as she scanned the crowd around them.

“Yes,” Melinda replied after only a brief hesitation.

Her thoughts strayed back to SHIELD’s former base, but Phil’s voice broke in over the comms before she could voice her concerns. “It’s okay, Melinda. I’ll keep watch,” he said.

Melinda forced her shoulders to relax. “Copy that,” she said. Her eyes flicked to Bobbi. “Let’s go.”

<*>

_ Inside the Barbershop Base, Cuba _

Sneaking into the base was a lot easier than Melinda had anticipated, which just set her nerves on edge. So far, they’d made it down to the basement without seeing  _ anyone _ . Bobbi and Agent Simmons were keeping watch over the backdoor and their escape route, but that gave Melinda little comfort.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered quietly.

Across the basement, Phil glanced up. He’d lost the stupid hat from earlier, but his face was tight and drawn, his eyes pinched. There was an undeniable tension in his shoulders as he placed himself between Trip and the door, gun half raised in his hands. “I don’t either,” he agreed.

“No one came or left this building the whole time I kept watch,” Trip said, but his mouth pulled down into a frown.

“If it helps, we’re all clear outside,” Bobbi said from her position outside, her voice echoing slightly over the comms.

Melinda shifted her grip on her gun, scanning the basement again for threats. “Then where is everyone?” she asked.

“Maybe we’re too late,” Phil said. “They must have known we were coming.”

“Maybe not,” Skye countered. She was holding up a smart phone she’d rigged up while she’d been watching the cameras. “This base is still hooked up to electricity and when I checked earlier, this building was using massive amounts of power. We just have to find out what’s using it.”

Trip glanced over at her. “You think they still have a computer system somewhere?” he said, waving a hand at the empty space and small stack of old furniture.

Lowering her gun, Melinda glanced around the basement again, noting the stack of broken crates in the corner. Unlike the rest of the space, they weren’t dusty, and when Melinda walked over, she caught the A.I.M. logo spray-painted on the side. Spotting something else lying half buried in the dirt floor, she crouched down and pulled out a piece of splintered wood. It was just another piece of broken crate, but when Melinda turned it over, the logo made her raise her eyebrows. It didn’t belong to A.I.M.

Skye shrugged. “Scoff all you want, but something has to be using that power,” she replied.

“That’s not all we have to worry about,” Melinda said, walking over to Phil. She showed him the crate piece and the logo. “It looks like A.I.M. isn’t Hydra’s only supplier.”

Phil grimaced. “Cybertek,” he said. “Well, at least that gives us a place to start.”

“Wait, Cybertek?” Skye said, glancing up. “Hydra has Cybertek gear?”

Melinda held up the crate piece, logo facing Skye. “You know them?” she asked.

Skye snorted. “You’re kidding, right?” she replied.

Blinking, Melinda raised her eyebrows and Skye frowned. “Seriously?” Skye muttered. “Cybertek is a billion dollar company that specializes in advanced technology and research. Seriously, some of their gadgets are  _ amazing _ . Half the guys I used to hang out with would  _ kill _ to get their hands on some of the Cybertek stuff.” Her eyes widened a little and she blinked, as if just realizing what she’d said. “In a metaphorical way, you know, not like… literally.”

“Cybertek might not be aware of where their gear is going, but regardless, this is definitely something we should look into when we get out of here,” Phil said.

Trip nodded, slipping off his backpack. “I guess that’s my cue,” he said.

Melinda arched an eyebrow when Trip pulled out a portable x-ray scanner. “I don’t remember Fury sending us one of those,” she said.

Trip grinned. “He didn’t,” he said. “I grabbed it from one of the stashes Sharon and I set up.”

“Sharon?” Bobbi echoed over the comms. “As in Agent 13?”

“That would be the one,” Trip said, turning on the scanner and holding it up. “She’s my cousin. Our grandfather taught us to always have a backup plan.”

“Smart man, your grandfather,” Bobbi said dryly.

A quick grin flashed across Trip’s face, but he never stopped turning smoothly as he scanned the walls nearest him for surprises. “Well, he was a Howling Commando,” he said. “He married a pretty smart lady, too.”

Her mouth dropping a little, Skye blinked. “Wait, as in the Howling Commandos that helped Captain America?”

Melinda glanced up at Phil. His eyes brightened a little, showing signs of life. “Would it matter if I said I already knew your grandfather was a Howling Commando?” he said.

“No, sir,” Trip said. “I kinda figured.” He smiled. “Grandad married Sharon’s great aunt after the war.” He paused, his attention caught on the screen of his scanner. “I think I’ve found something, sir.”

“What is it?” Phil asked.

“I think there’s a door hidden in that wall,” Trip said, nodding towards the wall directly in front of his scanner.

“I might be able to help with that,” Phil said quietly.

Crossing to the wall, Phil started running his hands over some of the dark bricks. Melinda arched an eyebrow, because she didn’t remember any secret walls being part of this base when she’d last visited. Of course, she hadn’t expected Hydra to be growing within SHIELD, so who knows what else Hydra had managed to hide?

“Ha,” Phil said softly, his voice little more than a breath, right before a loud grinding noise echoed through the basement.

“Well, shit,” Skye said. “I think we found it.”

As Phil stepped out of the way, Melinda caught a glimpse of a small room lined with blinking servers, and several computers sitting on a group of desks pushed into the middle of the room. “Time for your magic, Skye,” she said.

“Got it,” Skye said, already slinging off her backpack and heading straight for one of the computers.

Melinda wasn’t sure how long it would take Skye to upload her Trojan Horse programme to the Hydra systems -- Skye herself hadn’t even been sure -- but the patch of skin between her shoulders was beginning to itch.

“You okay?” Phil asked her, walking over to stand beside her.

Nodding, Melinda glanced at him. “Does this seem too easy to you?” she asked.

Phil let out a long breath. “I thought it was just me,” he muttered.

Trip had moved to stand beside Skye as she typed furiously, the clicking of the keys sounding loud in the otherwise quiet basement. “Yes,” Skye hissed, grinning fiercely. “This definitely connects to Hydra’s super secret computer network.”

Melinda let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “How does it look outside, Bobbi?” she said.

“You’re still clear,” Bobbi replied. “I can’t see any movement.”

“Okay, okay, here we go,” Skye said. “Uploading my little baby now. We’ll be good to go in five… four… three… two…one.”

Almost exactly as Skye had finished her countdown, there was a faint whining sound as the electricity cut out, and what little light there was in the basement disappeared. Melinda blinked a few times in the pitch blackness, but there wasn’t even a tiny glimmer of light to see by. Beside her, Phil cursed under his breath as Trip echoed the same sentiments.

“What just happened?” Bobbi demanded. “Shit, wait! I can see movement. Five men heading into the building. You need to get out of there now.”

Since she’d never holstered her gun, Melinda simply shifted her grip and made her way over to the doorway. If this really was an ambush and Hydra agents were heading towards them, Melinda was going to give them the fight of their lives.

“Skye, did the upload finish before the power went out?” Phil said.

“I think so,” Skye said quietly. There was a soft sound of Skye shouldering her backpack again. “Right now, I’m really hoping it did.”

“We can deal with that later,” Melinda said.

“Agreed,” Phil replied. “Melinda, stay with Skye. Trip, you’re with me. We’ll head up first, clear a path for you and Skye to get to the back door.”

Melinda raised both her eyebrows at Phil’s orders, not sure Phil was in any condition to take on five or more Hydra agents. This was hardly the time to argue about it, however. “Copy that,” she said.

Dim light trickled in through the gap when Melinda pulled open the basement door a crack. She squinted a little, but there weren’t any shapes moving on the stairs up to the first floor. “You’re clear,” she whispered as Phil paused beside her.

Trip went first, backpack shouldered and gun drawn, and then Phil followed. Melinda let out a slow breath as they disappeared into the shadows.

“There’s two men guarding the back door,” Bobbi reported, her voice low and quiet. “I’m moving closer. Let me know when you’re in position and I’ll clear the exit.”

“Mockingbird…” Phil said, using Bobbi’s SHIELD codename.

“Copy that,” Melinda interrupted, because the idea was to get out before Hydra worked out what they’d done. “Skye and I are moving now.”

Glancing over to where Skye was waiting nearby, Melinda gestured for Skye to stay behind her and started up the stairs. She’d almost reached the hidden entrance to the barbershop at the top when Melinda caught the sounds of a scuffle over the comms and Phil cursed softly.

“Contact,” Phil hissed.

A second later, Melinda cursed inwardly as she spotted one of the Hydra thugs just inside the hidden entrance. The man snarled something in Spanish, his tone nasty, as he turned and raised his gun. Melinda moved quicker, firing two shots at the man’s chest even as she put herself between Skye and the thug. The man slumped to the ground, his own shot going wide, but Melinda had no time to focus on the adrenaline shuddering through her, or the memories of Bahrain that threatened to rise up.

“One down,” Melinda said.

“Trip and I got two,” Phil said, slightly out of breath.

There was a burst of gunfire from the other side of the barbershop, and Melinda crept forward, heading towards the back door, and hopefully away from the other Hydra thugs. The barbershop was surprisingly large, which had made it a good base for SHIELD agents needing to stay under the radar, but it also gave Melinda a lot of ground to cover before they got out. Peering around a corner, Melinda checked the exit was all clear and slid back out of sight. When Skye moved to step forward, she put a hand on Skye’s arm and shook her head.

“Mockingbird, we could use an exit,” she whispered.

“Copy that,” Bobbi replied just as quietly.

It was a long, tense moment as they waited. Melinda breathed deep, keeping her heartbeat steady, even as she mapped another route out.

“All clear,” Bobbi said.

“Copy that,” Melinda replied.

Across the other side of the base, there was another burst of gunfire and what sounded like a muffled explosion. Taking advantage of the distraction, Melinda nodded at Skye to go first and kept watch as Skye hurried to the back door. The second after she slipped through, Melinda followed.

She found Bobbi waiting on the other side, but no Skye. Melinda tensed.

“Jemma’s waiting in a car just around the block to the north-east,” Bobbi whispered. “The way’s clear, so Skye went ahead. I’m going to wait for Trip and Coulson. We’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Melinda nodded, but she didn’t relax. Her gut twisted, instincts flaring as they warned her of hidden danger. “Watch your back,” Melinda warned Bobbi.  _ And Phil’s _ , she added silently.

Bobbi nodded back, retreating into the shadows.

The night was cool and quiet, the moon lighting up the cobbled streets enough to see by. Hurrying as her instincts flared again, Melinda paused at the street corner, flattening her back against the brick as she peered around. Skye was a dark shape about ten feet away, her hands gripping the strap of her backpack tightly as a man loomed over her, crowding her back against the wall of one of the nearby shop fronts. Gritting her teeth, Melinda bit back her instinctive urge to run forward and get Skye out of there, forcing herself to assess what the hell was going on. Even so, she couldn’t stop the way she scanned Skye for any sign of injury, but Skye didn’t look hurt.

“I promise, Skye,” the man said, his voice smooth and cajoling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

_ Ward _ .

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Skye snapped, only a faint tremble in her voice.

Ward moved to hold his hands out to his sides, as if trying to look harmless. Melinda didn’t believe it for a second. “I mean it, Skye,” Ward continued. “I’m only here to help you.”

Skye snorted. “Out of the goodness of your heart, right?” she said sarcastically. “You’re  _ Hydra _ .”

“I’m trying to help you,” Ward said, but the hand curling into a fist by his side gave away his anger.

Stepping forwards, Skye moved to push past Ward, and Ward reached out to grab her wrist. Skye jumped back, pulling at her arm, but Ward didn’t let go. “I know what you’re looking for, Skye,” he said. “You want to know who you are. I can help.”

Melinda’s trigger finger itched. It would be so easy to shoot Ward and rid the world of another Hydra thug, but even in Havana gunshots on the street would lead to police. Which was a complication they didn’t need. With a slow breath, Melinda holstered her gun under her shirt and got ready to make her move.

“Let me go,” Skye demanded, her face pale and her eyes wide.

Ward dropped her arm and stepped back. “You were born in China, did you know that? No, you didn’t, did you?” he said, and everything about him oozed thick, dangerous persuasion. “Your parents named you Daisy. Daisy Johnson.”

Melinda gritted her teeth. Everything about Ward screamed that he  _ wanted _ Skye to join him, and that just made Melinda want to punch him repeatedly in the face.

“I know who your father is, Daisy,” Ward added. “He’s looking for you.”

“No,” Skye said quietly, pressing herself back against the wall and hunching her shoulders. “Stop. Stop doing this.”

“Daisy…” Ward began.

That was  _ enough _ . Melinda stepped forward, no longer bothering to hide her presence, and Ward whirled, his hands automatically coming up to defend himself. Melinda arched an eyebrow, already calculating the distance between her foot and his smug face. “You heard her,” Melinda said.

Ward smirked. “Agent May,” he greeted.

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when, behind him, Skye spun and grabbed something from the shadows beside her. She smashed it across the back of Ward’s head, and the improvised weapon exploded into shards of pottery. Ward staggered forwards with the force of the blow, but he didn’t go down. He scowled, his entire face turning ugly, but Melinda didn’t give him time to do anything else.

Racing forward, Melinda kicked out as Ward moved to draw a weapon from underneath his jacket. She barely caught a glimpse of the gun before her foot connected with Ward’s wrist, sending the gun skidding across the cobbled street. Melinda immediately lashed out with another kick, this one aimed for Ward’s stomach. Ward blocked, but he didn’t catch the fist Melinda aimed at his face.

Snarling, Ward stumbled backwards, throwing a wild punch at Melinda in retaliation. Melinda ducked under it, sweeping Ward’s foot out from underneath him and following with another spinning kick that had Ward sagging to the ground, unconscious.

Melinda took a deep breath, her gaze flicking up to Skye. “Remind me to show you how to throw a proper punch,” she said. “Then next time you won’t have to throw things.” She frowned down at the ground. “What was that anyway?”

Skye shrugged, smiling faintly. “An ugly kind of gnome statue, I think?” she replied.

Melinda nodded. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

<*>


	16. Phil

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Phil stared up at the screen that had been rigged up to cover half of an exposed brick wall without really seeing it. Exhaustion weighed on him, turning his limbs heavy and his eyes gritty. They’d left Havana six days ago, and Phil had spent most of those barely sleeping. It wasn’t just the complicated and circular route they’d taken to Portsmouth, either, or the careful hours ducking down twisting streets to get to the hidden entrance to the old Strand Station, and the SSR bunker below it. The news about Hydra’s resurgence into a world that had thought them destroyed was being broadcast everywhere, a harsh reminder of everything Phil had woken up to.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Phil sighed and reached for his coffee mug. True to Nick’s word, Eric Koenig had set up the old SSR bunker with enough gear for a semi-mobile control centre. It was hardly the sleek tech of SHIELD HQ, but it was better than Phil had hoped, and more importantly, it would be relatively easy to move when needed. They wouldn’t stay hidden from Hydra forever. Plus, the bunker had the advantage of space, allowing Phil to grab a little privacy for his thoughts when he needed it.

Of course, Melinda would probably argue that he didn’t need anymore time to get lost in his own thoughts.

Phil turned at a soft knock at the door. Skye stood hesitantly in the doorway, her hair braided messily over her shoulder and a large gray sweater hanging loosely from her frame. “Hey, Coulson,” she greeted.

“Skye,” Phil said, surprised.

He waved her into the room they’d set up as their hub, mostly because it was the only rooms with computer screens covering the available wall space and the few desks they’d managed to find. Skye had been quiet and withdrawn ever since they’d left Havana, but Phil didn’t blame her. She wasn’t a soldier or a trained SHIELD agent, and after everything she’d had to deal with over the last month, Phil couldn’t help but be impressed by her strength.

“Anything I can help with?” Skye asked, nodding at the wall of screens as she stepped forward.

Phil let out a breath. “No,” he said. “I was just going over what you’d already found.”

They hadn’t got much -- what little they did have on Hydra was fragmented, evidence for disjointed operations that didn’t fit together in a whole. Nick had told him all about Zola and the algorithm, and the demolition of the Helicarriers was splashed in technicolour across every news network. Yet no one had any idea who was in control of Hydra. There was Pierce, who had been the leader of Hydra within SHIELD, the one who’d torn the entire organization apart, but if Hydra really had been in hiding since its apparent destruction, Phil was willing to bet that Hydra was a lot bigger than even a few hundred double-agents within SHIELD.

Skye nodded, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater. “What about you?” Phil asked her.

“Just, Hydra, you know?” Skye said, shrugging. She glanced up, wincing. “Sorry. I just meant…”

“It’s okay, Skye,” Phil interrupted. His lips twisted into a parody of a smile, even as he glanced back at the wall of screens. “I know what you meant. And it’s okay. It’s not a competition. Hydra likes inflicting pain and destruction on anyone they can.”

“They really do,” Skye said quietly.

Phil watched the data flickering over the screen for another minute before closing his eyes. He really needed to get some sleep. The idea would be more tempting if images of Clint and Natasha in the WSC prison didn’t flood his mind every time he tried.

“Are  _ you _ okay?” Skye asked, and Phil blinked open his eyes to find Skye standing beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“You mean, aside from Hydra trying to kill us, our lack of supplies or intel, and the general rampant chaos?” Phil replied dryly.

Skye shrugged, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, aside from that,” she said.

Phil shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I think the exhaustion is just getting to me, and the coffee in this place is pretty terrible.”

Skye eyed him. “If you say so,” she said.

Letting out a huff, Phil scrubbed his hand over his face. “Okay, so maybe it’s not nothing, but it isn’t important, either,” he admitted. As much as he might want to be selfish and make finding Clint his highest priority, he needed to focus on the threat Hydra posed. Saving the world was always more important than anything else. “Right now we need to concentrate on figuring out what Hydra’s resources are, and how many agents we’re dealing with. Not to mention trying to work out what’s left of SHIELD.”

“Agent May’s been asking you the same question I did, huh?” Skye said.

“Of course she has,” Phil said.

“Well,” Skye said, blowing out a sigh. “I might be able to help with the Hydra thing at least. Assuming my worm managed to finish uploading before Hydra cut the power in Havana, it should have had enough time to filter through Hydra’s computer systems. I was thinking about trying to wake it up in a few hours and finding out.” She sent Phil a small smile. “You know, when everyone else is awake, too.”

Phil’s lips curved upwards in an answering smile. “Probably a good idea,” he agreed.

Skye nodded. “I should probably also go to bed,” she said. “Melinda, uh, Agent May is going to show me some stuff later, and I don’t think staying up all night is going to help.” She shrugged, turning to Phil again. “You should do that, too. If only because Agent May might yell at me if you don’t get some sleep soon.”

“I will,” Phil said, a tendril of warmth curling through his chest at Skye’s concern. “I promise.”

Smiling, Skye started heading for the door, only to pause in the doorway. “Sleep well, Coulson,” she said softly.

“You, too,” Phil said.

<*>

Phil actually managed to get a few hours sleep after Skye had left, crashing out in one of the small rooms just down the corridor from the makeshift command center. Not that Phil was any less tired -- he wasn’t even sure three days of uninterrupted sleep would help. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical.

Throwing his legs over the side of his narrow cot, Phil sat up and rubbed his eyes.  _ Christ _ , he needed to get his shit together. Melinda and Nick were worried about him, and they weren’t wrong. It had been one shock or crisis after another since he’d woken up, and Phil hadn’t really had a chance to deal with any of it. Somehow, he was going to have to find a way, because he couldn’t just keep going on like this. If for nothing else, then for Clint. So that Phil could fight through this to the end, to still be standing when the smoke cleared and he’d get a chance to go after the man he loved.

If Clint hadn’t come back by then. Phil knew better than to count Clint Barton out yet.

Blowing out a breath, Phil reached out for his burner phone. It was a long shot, but Nick or Maria might have left a message in between dealing with the fallout from Pierce and Hydra, and trying to find those that were still loyal to SHIELD. He wasn’t really surprised when he found nothing.

According to Nick’s last check in, he and Mack were set to rendezvous with Isabelle Hartley and her team of mercenaries. The idea had been to gather a team to start rescuing stranded agents that had been undercover or on sensitive missions when SHIELD had gone down. Nick was coordinating things with Victoria Hand, too, as she tried to secure what SHIELD resources she could, and last Phil had heard, Maria was helping her. They were scrambling, but it was the best they could do until they found out exactly how far Hydra extended and what they’d have to fight -- which was where Phil came in.

Sighing again, Phil levered himself to his feet and grabbed some clothes and his shaving kit. There was a tiny bathroom attached to his room which wasn’t much more than a sink, toilet and cracked mirror, but Phil would take what he could get. Overall, the SSR bunker was designed like a military barracks, and the rows of showers and disused mess hall had inspired a pang of bittersweet familiarity. The memory of his Ranger days just showed Phil how far he’d fallen, of how much of a ghost he’d become.

He’d  _ died _ .

That was an undeniable fact. Phil couldn’t change it, but he sure as hell could stop being defined by it. Nick had given him a second chance, and Phil was  _ done _ wasting it. Bracing his hands on the edges of the sink, Phil looked up into his slightly distorted reflection in the cracked mirror. For a second, he was back at Providence Base, staring at the thin, haggard man who’d woken up after the Battle of New York. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, because  _ he wasn’t that man anymore _ . He was  _ more _ than that.

Opening his eyes, Phil let out a long, slow breath, and stared his reflection dead in the eyes. The man in the mirror was still worn and exhausted, but there was finally a spark of  _ life _ in Phil’s gaze, a glimmer of the determination and stubbornness that had cemented Phil’s reputation in both the Rangers and SHIELD. “Come on, Cheese,” he muttered to himself. “You’re better than this.”

Reaching up, Phil scratched at the beard now covering his cheeks and jaw. That would have to go. If for no other reason than to prove he wasn’t going just sit by and take things anymore. It might have been fifteen years since Phil had last been a Ranger, but just like the tattoo on his shoulder, there were just some things that were forever. Besides, if it was one thing old soldiers were good at, it was fighting a war.

By the time Phil had shaved and dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt under a jacket, his skin had stopped feeling two sizes too small. Something  _ settled _ deep inside his chest, his shoulders straightening even as he lifted his chin. He might have made the decision to fight Hydra weeks ago, but it was only now that he’d finally made peace with it. Silently, he sent an apology to Nick and Melinda. He was done being more burden than asset.

It was time to fight back.

<*>

Everyone had already gathered in the command center when Phil paused in the doorway. Skye was standing in front of the big screen on the wall, Starktab in her hand as she tapped away, Simmons and Trip nearby. Bobbi was pacing a little in front of them, and Melinda was tracking everyone from where she stood, arms crossed over her chest, in the corner. Her dark eyes flicked to Phil when he paused, but she didn’t say anything, instead refocusing on the others. Even Koenig was present, hanging in the background and watching everyone carefully.

“We can’t keep pretending that everything is the same as it was yesterday,” Bobbi said, running a hand through her hair as she turned to start pacing the other way. “I mean, look around.” She glanced up at Trip and Simmons, waving her hand to encompass the bunker. “Half our friends are either dead or have turned. SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore. We need to do something.”

Trip frowned. “You think we aren’t?” he said.

“We need to stop this,” Bobbi insisted.

“We will,” Phil said levelly, stepping forward.

Skye and Simmons sent wide eyes towards him as if only just noticing he’d arrived, but as expected, the field rated agents didn’t twitch. Koenig straightened with a jolt, almost as if he was seconds away from snapping out a salute. “Agent Coulson,” he said.

Phil nodded to Koenig, and turned back to Bobbi. “There’s one important thing that we have and Hydra doesn’t,” he said.

“And what’s that?” Bobbi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The principle that SHIELD was founded on,” Phil told her. “It’s as true now as it was then.”

“Protection,” Melinda said.

Phil nodded. “Exactly,” he agreed. “It was always SHIELD’s strength, the driving belief behind what we did. What we do. Nick always used to say that a man can accomplish anything when he realizes he’s part of something bigger.” Phil closed his eyes, and for a second he was transported back to his first day at SHIELD, nerves fluttering in his stomach and everything bright and shiny. “I swore an oath, to serve when everything else fails. That people are worth saving, whether it’s one man, or all mankind.”

“To be the shield,” Melinda said. “Humanity’s last line of defense.”

Blinking open his eyes, Phil glanced at her before flicking his gaze towards the others. “That hasn’t changed,” he said. “Not for me.”

Bobbi blew out a breath. “Hydra has us outnumbered and outgunned,” she said. “We don’t even know where to find them. How can we fight that?”

“Well, I might be able to help with some of that at least,” Skye said.

She tapped a few things on her Startab screen and a world map appeared on the largest wall screen. Phil walked forward to get a better view, coming up to stand beside Skye. “The worm,” he said.

“Yeah,” Skye agreed. She sent him a sidelong glance before she tapped another part of the tablet screen. “Activating it now.”

As Phil watched, tiny red dots started appearing across the map, first centering in Washington and New York, and then spreading down to Havana and across to Europe. Phil stiffened, his heart giving a slow, nauseating lurch as the dots just kept appearing. Phil had suspected that whatever double-agents within SHIELD had only been the beginning, but he never could have imagined that Hydra was that… extensive.

“Shit,” he said heavily.

“Is that…?” Bobbi began.

“Hydra’s computer network?” Skye said. “Yeah. Well, it’s every computer that has a connection to the base in Havana.”

Trip muttered a curse. “That’s a lot of computers.”

Phil nodded, keeping a tight rein on his emotions and swallowed heavily. As much as he wanted to give in to the rage burning in the pit of his stomach, they needed to deal with this logically. “Can we get hold of Nick?” he asked, his tone as calm and deadpan as he could make it. “He needs to see this.”

“I’ll put in a call,” Melinda said.

“Good,” Phil said. He glanced at Bobbi and Trip, and Bobbi’s eyes were trained on him. Not assessing, exactly, but watchful. “But we’re going to need a more permanent solution for communication. Something more reliable.”

“Well, we can’t use any of the old SHIELD emergency channels,” Bobbi said, frowning. “We were using them to track stranded agents and get them to safety, but Hydra ambushed us.”

Letting out a breath, Phil considered their other options. He wasn’t surprised that was one of the first things Bobbi had done after Hydra revealed themselves. “We?” he said.

Bobbi opened her mouth and then hesitated. It was only for a second, but Bobbi glanced away, suddenly refusing to meet Phil’s eyes. “Isabelle Hartley, Jimmy Woo and me,” she replied. “Although Director Hand sent Izzy some of our intel, and Izzy had her old merc team working on tracking down SHIELD tech. And I know Fury had other people looking.”

There was something else, something Bobbi wasn’t saying, but right now wasn’t the time to push for answers. “Agent Koenig,” Phil said instead. “Is there any old SSR infrastructure we can use? Something we can guarantee Hydra doesn’t have access to?”

“Actually, I think I have an idea about that, sir,” Trip broke in. “Hydra has the advantage, right? At least for now.” He waved at the map on the large screen. “We have no idea how many SHIELD assets Hydra controls, or how many surveillance and satellite systems they’ve compromised. Not until we cross check everything.” He looked straight at Phil, a faint smile on his face. “So I was thinking, why don’t we go old school?”

“Old school?” Skye echoed, hugging her Starktab closer to her chest, but her eyes were bright.

“Yeah,” Trip said. “We can pass messages through a radio network, maybe use some of the old SSR cyphers Hydra was never able to crack. Dead drops, the whole deal. It’s a risk if Hydra has another copy of Zola out there, or worse, but my granddaddy used to say that we’ve had spies as long as we had secrets to steal, and we didn’t always need computers to find them.”

Phil had to admit that the idea appealed to him. He was old enough to remember the days before all the high-tech surveillance SHIELD had now, and even if he wasn’t, he’d met Peggy Carter more than once. “That could work,” he said.

“I might be able to get some old SSR prototypes too,” Trip said. “My grandfather hung onto a whole lot of them. I think there’s still an old suitcase full of stuff somewhere in my mom’s attic.”

Skye raised her eyebrows. “Is your grandfather some kind of superspy or something?” she asked dryly. “No, wait. He’s the Howling Commando, right?”

Trip nodded. “I don’t really tell people about it, so I don’t think Hydra would have worked it out. I wanted to make a name for myself on my own, but I think that’s the least of my problems now.”

There was a beat of silence before Simmons let out a loud rush of air, her eyes wide. “Oh my God,” she hissed. “Your grandfather is  _ Gabe Jones _ . The same Private Gabriel Jones who married  _ Peggy Carter _ .”

Phil smiled, because Simmons hadn’t found out in Havana or from Bobbi, apparently. The amusement definitely wasn’t because Phil had reacted in any sort of similar way when he’d found out himself.

Shrugging, Trip ducked his head. “Yeah. Just, don’t tell Sharon I told? Peggy was her Great Aunt, and she’s always had it worse when it comes to making a name for herself outside of Aunt Peg’s shadow.”

Simmons squeaked a little, but she nodded, her chin rising. “Of course not,” she said. “I would never… Sharon Carter is an amazing agent.”

Phil cleared his throat before the discussion could get any further off track. “Any help you could get from your grandfather would be appreciated, Trip,” he said. “In the meantime, we also need to start putting together anything we can on Hydra’s command structure. Someone has to be giving the orders, and I’m not convinced it’s Pierce. Or maybe not  _ only _ Pierce.”

“What are your orders?” Melinda asked.

Phil took a deep breath. “Skye, I need you to cross reference your map of Hydra’s computer network against what we know. We need to get a better picture of what assets Hydra has and how they operate. Bobbi, Agent Simmons, I would appreciate any help and insights he could give.” Phil turned to Trip and Melinda, the mantle of command settling over him like a familiar weight. If he ignored what they were talking about, it almost felt normal. “Trip, anything you can get from your grandfather would help. I also want you to coordinate with May and Agent Koenig to set up a way of passing messages. Go as old school as you like -- we just need something that works.”

Nodding at the chorus of “yes sirs!” he received, Phil glanced back at the map. Getting intel on Hydra was only the start of the problem. “Agent Koenig, I would also like a list, as complete as you can make it, of all the tech and gear we have available to us,” he added. “And then we need to figure out which SHIELD agents are still loyal, because we’re going to need them.”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows. “Are we planning on taking on Hydra, sir?” she asked.

Phil let his face harden, cold determination running through him. “Yes,” he said. “Any objections?”

“No, sir,” Bobbi replied with a fierce grin.

<*>

Setting up a radio network to communicate with the remaining fragments of SHIELD was easier than Phil expected. It might have been the help from Koenig’s brothers, or maybe Hydra hadn’t considered radios to be a threat. However, the old SSR had grown up during World War Two, in part led by Peggy Carter herself, which apparently meant a radio network was already set up in case of emergencies. Of course, basic communication wasn’t going to take down Hydra by itself -- and that was the hard part. They didn’t have enough agents for a full scale surveillance operation, particularly not when all their procedures and resources had been compromised.

Phil sighed. His thoughts were only going around in constant circles, and not even the distraction of burning muscles could quiet them. Sinking down onto the mats, Phil rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dim ceiling. At least he could do more than twenty pushups in a row now. So there was that.

He blinked when wrappings for his hands landed on his stomach. Lifting his head, he found Melinda watching him, her hands on her hips. “You need to stop brooding,” she said.

With a sigh, Phil climbed slowly to his feet. “I’m not brooding,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” Melinda countered.

Phil raised an eyebrow, but Melinda just arched one back. “I may not show my emotions on the outside, but that doesn’t mean I bottle them up, Phil,” she said.

“I’m still pretty sure I’m keeping you away from any gamma radiation we find,” Phil said.

Melinda blinked. “Hulk jokes, really?”

“Would you have preferred one about Spock?” Phil asked.

Melinda narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Very funny,” she said.

Phil shrugged unrepentantly as he wrapped his hands, but he doubted this would be the end of the conversation. Melinda rarely let things go that easily. Moving into the center of the mats, Phil nodded once to Melinda and braced himself. It was just as well that he did, because Phil barely blocked two punches before Melinda’s leg connected painfully with his thigh and he went crashing back down to the mats.

His heart gave a jolt against his ribs as Phil groaned, pain flaring through his still healing bruises. Melinda stepped forward to lean over him with a frown. “You’re thinking too much and not paying attention,” she said. “Stop letting yourself be distracted.”

Wincing, Phil reached up to rub his fingers over the scar on his chest. When Melinda reached out a hand, he took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. “Again?” Phil said.

Melinda’s dark eyes regarded him for a moment before she nodded in reply. “Again,” she agreed.

This time, Phil blocked Melinda’s punches, but he barely managed to move out of the way of Melinda’s hard kick to his stomach. The force of it sent him stumbling backwards and Melinda scowled at him.

“Come on, Phil,” she said. “Stop letting pain slow you down. You’re better than this.”

Her words pricked at Phil’s temper. He retaliated with a punch towards Melinda’s face, but she blocked effortlessly. He sent another sharp jab towards Melinda’s stomach, pivoting away from her arm and driving her back with a kick of his own. The ease with which Melinda blocked his strikes would have been impressive if Phil hadn’t been on the receiving end, and being sent crashing back down to the mat only reminded Phil why he hated feeling weak. Pain flared in his shoulder, throbbing in counterpoint to a new set of bruises.

“Ow,” he muttered.

“Stop biting back your anger,” Melinda said. “Feel it. Channel it.  _ Use _ it.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Phil pushed himself back to his feet. He closed his eyes, reaching inside his chest for the biting, blistering rage he usually locked behind his ribs. It burst outwards, spreading down to his fingertips and uncurled in his stomach. He was going to do this. He  _ could _ do this. As Phil breathed, the chaotic swirl of anger slowly solidified in a clarity that sharpened his focus and strengthened and steadied his weary body. Opening his eyes again, Phil nodded once.

This time when Melinda launched a kick towards his stomach, Phil pivoted smoothly, blocking the strike easily and retaliating with a punch of his own. Melinda blocked it, but Phil was already moving, his body fluid and graceful in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The fight was fast and hard, Melinda giving back as good as she got, until Phil spotted his opportunity. Lashing out with a kick, he drove Melinda back a few steps, and then distracting her with an elbow to the face, kicked her legs out from underneath her. Or, at least, he attempted to. Melinda didn’t exactly go down, but she did stagger a little, and Phil was going to take whatever victories he could get.

“Better,” Melinda said, breathing hard. When Phil grinned sharply, she arched an eyebrow. “Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

<*>

Phil woke up groaning at his new bruises after Melinda’s workout, but something inside him had settled. Like he wasn’t being stretched thin anymore. Even the cargos and henley he wore under his jacket sat better on his shoulders, the echo of the soldier -- of the  _ man _ \-- he’d been sitting more solidly underneath his skin.

“Coulson,” Trip greeted when Phil walked into the makeshift command center, coffee mug in his hand.

“Trip,” Phil replied.

Bobbi looked up and nodded from where she was working on a Starktab in the back corner, paper spread across the table in front of her. Melinda was working beside her, and lifted her head enough to give Phil a sharp glance before returning to the intelligence.

“Any news this morning?” Phil asked Trip.

Trip frowned, gesturing to the wall of screens. Various news broadcasts were playing, filled with the Helicarriers exploding in technicolour glory. Occasionally, the footage flicked to old photos of Alexander Pierce. Or Nick, his face covered by ominous red letters proclaiming him ‘still at large’. It was probably a good thing that Phil couldn’t hear what the news anchors were saying.

“The news is still mostly full of what happened to the Helicarriers,” Trip said. “Although, more and more reports are coming out about Hydra -- you know, about how Cap and the Howling Commandos fought them during the war.” He winced slightly. “I think it’s only a matter of time before everyone goes searching for whatever dirty secrets they can find on Cap and SHIELD.”

“They probably already are,” Phil said, because the scent of blood was in the water and people were going to want answers about what happened.

“That’s not all,” Trip continued. “The messages coming through are still pretty brief, but Agent Hand has put together a team to try and secure SHIELD HQ, and Agent Weaver has recently gained back control of the SHIELD Academy. She isn’t doing much more than sheltering the few agents that made it, but it’s something.”

“What else do we know?” Phil asked.

“Fury and Mack have joined up with Izzy and her team of mercenaries to try and rescue any agents that make contact,” Bobbi said, getting up to walk over. “And as far as anyone can tell, Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson are going after the Winter Soldier.” She hesitated, glancing at Trip.

Trip cleared his throat. “And, uh, sir,” he said. “No one’s heard anything from Agent Sitwell since the Helicarriers went down.”

Phil closed his eyes, his chest clenching.  _ Jasper, please be okay _ .

Opening his eyes, Phil shoved aside his emotions and let out a slow breath. “And the Winter Soldier?” he asked, because he couldn’t believe Hydra’s pet assassin had just disappeared.

“Actually, no one has seen him, either,” Melinda said as she joined them. “Not after fighting with Captain Rogers as he tried to take down the Helicarriers.”

“Maybe he’s dead?” Bobbi offered.

Phil doubted it. “Keep an alert out for anyone that matches the Soldier’s description,” he said. “Who knows what orders Hydra has given him.”

Trip nodded, glancing at Bobbi. “Okay, so with Skye’s help, Trip and I have been tracing any intel about Hydra we can find.” She tapped a few times on her Starktab and the wall of screens changed from news broadcasts to a world map.

“Skye’s worm identified the computer networks connected to the base in Havana,” Bobbi continued as multiple red dots appeared all over the map. “Trip and I cross-referenced the locations with known SHIELD assets and operations to try and get a better idea of how much SHIELD infrastructure Hydra controls.”

The names of SHIELD safehouses and bases appeared on the map, all with the symbol of Hydra next to them. Phil swallowed heavily. That was a lot more than he’d been expecting.

“We don’t think Hydra is actively using all the… well, everything you see, but the locations are compromised,” Bobbi said quietly, her eyes grave. She glanced at Phil. “We’ve made contact with Dir… Agent Hand, too, in an attempt to take back some of SHIELD’s larger bases.”

Phil nodded. Deep inside his chest, the blistering rage was growing, but instead of swallowing it down, he let it flow outwards and spread, driving his determination to see Hydra  _ burn _ . “That’s a good start,” he said.

“There’s something else, sir,” Trip said. “I asked Skye to help me track Hydra communications, and I think we found something. We can’t intercept any of the messages without Hydra noticing, but I thought it might help if we knew how much the parts of Hydra were talking to each other.”

Phil blinked. That  _ was _ a clever idea. “And what did you find?” he said.

“Well,” Trip said. “Hydra doesn’t exactly send reports, but each fragment seems to send regular messages to these six locations.”

Six new spots appeared on the map, each accompanied by a blacked-out, unknown face. Phil cursed as the implication of Trip’s words sank in. “It’s a council,” he said. “Hydra has a ruling council.”

“It makes sense,” Melinda said. “Cut off one head…”

“...Two more shall take its place,” Phil said, finishing the quote. A shiver ran down his spine. “We need to find out who those people are.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “And then what?” she said.

Unbidden, the words of one of Phil’s old trainers back in the Army swam into his mind.  _ Secure your position. Identify the targets. Eliminate them. _

“Then,” he said, fixing Melinda with a level stare. “We start cutting off heads.”

<*>

A soft knock at the door at Phil looked up from the accumulated intelligence of who Hydra’s ruling council might be. Skye stood in the doorway, a Starktab in her hands. “I’ve got something you might want to hear, Boss,” she said.

Phil fought to keep the wince off his face as a jolt of pain stabbed through his chest. Clint had always called him ‘Boss’.

“Okay, ixnay on ‘Boss’,” Skye said. “How about AC?”

Blinking, Phil stared at her for a beat. It was sometimes easy to forget that under the bubbly cheer, Skye was sharp, observant and very, very smart. “What?” he said.

“AC,” Skye repeated. “You know, Agent Coulson. AC.” She smiled, but her gaze was soft. “Since you don’t like people calling you ‘Boss’.”

Phil breathed out. “You could just call me Coulson, you know,” he said. “But thank you.” He swallowed. “Clint… Agent Barton always used to call me ‘Boss’.”

“He will again,” Skye said firmly. “We’re going to find him, AC.”

Clearing his throat, Phil pushed down the stab of worry curling through his stomach. “So what did you want to see me about?” he asked.

Skye walked forward to sit down on the opposite side of Phil’s desk. “Well, to get straight to the point, it looks like we have another player in this mess,” she said.

“We do?” Phil said, his mind immediately spinning through different scenarios. Had they finally sent someone after what was left of SHIELD?

“I don’t have a photo, but I’ve been keeping searches out on the internet and social media for mentions of Hydra, and… well, someone just took out what Trip thinks was a major Hydra base in Romania,” Skye said.

Phil blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “A strike team?” he said. “How many people are we looking at?”

“Just one,” Skye said.

“Just one?” Phil echoed. One person had just taken out a  _ Hydra base _ ?

“Yup,” Skye said, nodding. “One guy, dressed in black. And get this -- he used two samurai swords. In the last couple of hours, there’s been more mentions of this guy taking out other bases across the Czech Republic and Hungary. People are calling him ‘Ronin’.”

Phil froze, the air catching in his lungs. “Ronin? Are you sure?” he said, even though the evidence fit.

“Wait,” Skye said, her eyebrows rising. “You know who this guy is?”

Phil shook his head. “No. No one knows Ronin’s real identity, but about twenty years ago there was an assassin who went by that name. Always dressed in black and carried two samurai swords. Ronin was the kind of assassin that could do the impossible and then vanish like smoke. Although, rumour was that Ronin was dead.”

Skye snorted. “Well, unless we’ve got someone else who likes pretending to be a ninja, Ronin’s back,” she said. “Although, since they’re taking out Hydra, do we really mind?”

“No,” Phil admitted. “But I do want to know  _ why _ .”

Nodding, Skye tapped her Starktab screen, but whatever she was about to say was lost when Bobbi and Jemma appeared behind her in the doorway. Skye glanced over her shoulder, and then sent Phil a fixed smile. “I’ll let you know if I find anything, AC,” she said.

“Thank you,” Phil told her as she got up to leave.

Bobbi grimaced slightly. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all right, Bobbi,” Phil said. “Come in. What is it?”

“Well, sir, Jemma and I have an idea on how to help you get more information on Hydra,” Bobbi said.

Phil gestured for them to take a seat. Jemma hesitantly took the chair, perched on the edge of the seat, while Bobbi stood, straight-backed, beside her. Phil suddenly had the feeling he wasn’t going to like this plan.

“We want to go undercover in Hydra,” Jemma blurted out after a moment of silence.

“It’s the best way of getting information on Hydra and how it operates,” Bobbi broke in before Phil could say anything. “Especially now that SHIELD… now that Hydra isn’t using SHIELD as cover.”

Phil glanced between the two women. “It’s also very dangerous,” he said. “You wouldn’t have any backup, and I’m not even sure how much of a contact I can give you to relay what you find to us.”

Bobbi set her jaw, her eyes narrowing. “We can handle it,” she said.

“The fact that it’s so dangerous is why it’s such a good idea,” Jemma said. “Because that’s what Hydra will think, too, that it would be too dangerous for us to attempt.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she looked Phil dead in the eye. “Nobody’s going to look twice at another two SHIELD agents seemingly changing sides. Not in all the chaos.”

Hydra would be particularly pleased to get their hands on a field agent of Bobbi Morse’s calibre and someone with Jemma’s intelligence. So much so, that even if Hydra suspected Bobbi and Jemma had divided loyalties, they’d still take the risk. Phil tried to look at the plan analytically and not give into the part of himself that didn’t want to lose any of the few friends he had left.

“Have you run this past Melinda?” he asked.

“I did,” Bobbi said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “She said that it wasn’t her decision. That it was yours.”

Well, that was an answer in itself. If Melinda hadn’t agreed with the plan, she would have told Bobbi to forget it.

Phil breathed out. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll need to send word to Nick, and you’ll need to coordinate with Trip to figure out how we’re going to stay in contact, but… okay.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” Jemma said, sagging back in the chair. She’d have to learn to control reactions like that if she was going undercover with Hydra, but Phil trusted Bobbi and Melinda to help her with that.

Bobbi, however, didn’t relax. “If we’re going to do this, sir, then there’s something else you should know,” she said, glancing at Jemma.

Phil tensed. “Yes?” he said.

“Okay,” Bobbi said, breathing out. She straightened her shoulders. “Clint… he knows you’re alive.”

Phil’s blood froze in his veins and his entire body stilled. Clint finding out the truth had  _ always _ been what Phil had wanted, what he’d been fighting for, but somehow finding out didn’t make Phil feel any better. Clint was still alone out there, in danger, and that thought was enough to send cracks rippling through Phil’s icy control.

“Sir?” Bobbi said, but Phil didn’t reply, too focused on the icy bands wrapping around his chest and  _ squeezing _ .

Everything was slipping through his fingers, like sand, and Phil couldn’t stop it. He sucked in a shuddering breath, biting the inside of his cheek to stop the turmoil swirling inside him to show on his face. Clint knew, but he hadn’t come to find Phil. Hadn’t tried to make contact. It felt like Phil was losing him all over again, and Phil  _ couldn’t _ lose Clint, not again. Not before they had a chance to sort out all the shit between them, and Phil could maybe risk what was left of his heart.

“How did he take it?” he asked, surprised at how level his voice sounded.

Bobbi glanced away. “Not well,” she said. “Jemma traveled with him for a bit, but… after I told him that you were alive, he told me he needed a minute and then he…”

“Ran,” Phil finished.

Guilt slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer, twisting his stomach and his heart pounded sickeningly. This was his fault. The direct consequences of going up against Loki alone. His choices had led them here, to all the pain he’d caused -- and was still causing -- his friends. He took a slow, deep breath as a weight settled across his shoulders. “Thank you for telling me,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jemma added in a soft voice. “I didn’t know that no one had told him, that you were…”

Phil should reassure Jemma that it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“He’ll be back,” Bobbi said quietly. “Clint won’t stay out of the fight for long. It’s not in him to just sit by when the world is suffering.”

Maybe not, but that was Clint before he’d had a wannabe-god messing with his mind.

“Even if he doesn’t, Hydra is still the threat we need to be focusing on right now,” Phil said with a nod.

“Coulson…” Bobbi began, but then she seemed to think twice about what she wanted to say. Instead, she sighed and nodded back, heading for the door.

Jemma stood up, moving to follow Bobbi out, but she hesitated in the doorway. “Sir, if there’s anything you want to ask me, I’d be happy to answer,” she said.

“Thank you, Agent Simmons, I’ll remember that,” Phil told her, keeping a stranglehold on the emotions blistering the inside of his chest.

“Of course, sir,” Jemma said, leaving Phil to drown in a suffocating wave of guilt.

<*>


	17. Clint

_ Ostrava, Czech Republic _

Slumping down onto the sagging bed in the two-room apartment, Clint hissed out a breath and tried not to curse aloud.  _ Fuck _ , he was tired. The tiny, rundown apartment lacked heat, steady water pressure and most furnishings, but it was safe -- or as safe as Clint could get. At least it was less drafty than the warehouse in Romania. He glanced at the mostly empty bottle of vodka on the window ledge, not bothering to hide where he was looking when Jasper turned towards him.

Having finished checking all the safeguards and triggers they’d installed, Jasper grabbed the battered first aid kit and jerked his head towards the bathroom. “In there, and strip,” he said, his voice rough.

Clint glared at him, raising his eyebrows, but Jasper wasn’t cowed. “If you want me to fix your shoulder,  _ Hawk _ , get in there and lose the shirt,” Jasper said.

Scowling, Clint bit back the automatic retort not to call him ‘Hawk’. Jasper hadn’t listened yet, no matter how many times Clint had tried to get him to stop. The nickname was a constant reminder of what Clint was trying to forget. What he’d left behind. He hated it. Jasper was probably banking on that, the bastard.

Grunting, Clint shouldered his way into the small, cramped bathroom, snatching the vodka on the way. He winced at the stab of pain from his ribs and shoulder, and the dull throb of the bruises that covered him from his jaw to his knees. The last few weeks had been one fight after another as Clint -- as  _ Ronin  _ \-- had ripped through whatever Hydra outposts he could find.

The bathroom was lit by the flickering neon sign outside the window, spilling red light across the cracked tiles, which suited Clint’s mood. He certainly had more blood on his hands after tonight.

Turning on the tap, Clint watched the water in the grimy sink run red as he cleaned the blood off his raw knuckles. He needed to get gloves or something, if only to hide how injured he was. Ghosts didn’t bleed. Splashing his face with a handful of cold water, Clint hung his head and closed his eyes, bracing his arms against the sides of the basin as he tried to choke back the emotions rising up in his throat.

_ Fuck _ . Clint wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.

Swallowing, Clint pushed himself away from the basin as Jasper flicked on the light. He needed food and sleep. He needed… Shit, he didn’t know what he needed anymore.

“You know, you have to stop doing this to yourself, Clint,” Jasper said quietly.

Clint let out a short, bitter chuckle. When he turned around, he found Jasper standing in the doorway to the bathroom, still holding the first aid kit. His dark eyes, strangely unhidden without his glasses, were watching Clint sadly, and right now, Clint could have done without the reminder of how far he’d fallen.

“Blame Hydra,” he rasped.

For a second, Jasper looked like he wanted to say something, but he gave up with a sigh. “Come on,” he said. “At least let me sew up where you’re bleeding.”

Clint conceded with a nod, because Jasper was determined to stick by him and it was the least Clint could do. Carefully, he eased off his close-fitting jacket, biting back a groan. The jacket, just like the pants Clint wore, were an old idea for a ‘Hawkeye’ tac uniform. For when Clint finally gave in to Fury and became an Avenger. Or at least that had been the plan. Now Clint didn’t know what to think. If Nick Fury would still call him a hero. The shoulder of his jacket was shiny with blood, enough to soak through the material and stick it, and the t-shirt beneath, to Clint’s skin. Maybe that bullet had gone deeper than he’d thought.

Reaching for the bottle, Clint took a slug of vodka and pulled out one of his knives, and nodded to Jasper. Frowning, Jasper carefully slit the t-shirt near Clint’s neck, just enough to get to the bullet wound. Clint barely registered the cold slide of metal against his skin before Jasper was handing the knife back, hilt first.

The gash was still slowly weeping blood, but it didn’t look as bad as Clint had feared. Jasper pulled on a pair of latex gloves and carefully prodded the skin around the wound with gentle fingers, but even so, Clint couldn’t stop the hiss that escaped his clenched teeth at the jolt of pain. “Sorry,” Jasper said quietly.

Clint didn’t reply. He just took another swallow of vodka, squeezing the fingers of his free hand around the neck of the bottle. Jasper eyed the clothes on the floor and sighed, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant. Clint gritted his teeth, because this was going to  _ hurt _ . Clint jerked in Jasper’s grip at the flare of agony running down his arm, and Jasper tightened his grip. It was an instinctive urge to get away from the source of pain, but it was also a sign of weakness Clint couldn’t afford.

“You’re going to need stitches,” Jasper said.

Jasper paused, as if waiting for a response, so Clint nodded once.

The room was cold, the clunking heater in the corner barely keeping away the chill of the night air, and without a shirt, Clint was beginning to feel it. He shivered. If Jasper noticed, he didn’t comment. He just continued to clean a steel needle with practiced movements. 

Jasper slid dark eyes towards him, his hands never stilling in their task. “You know, Ronin needs a calling card,” he said. “If you’re going to keep being him.”

Clint snorted. “I’ll have some business cards printed up,” he said.

Jasper let out a bitter chuckle. “Not what I meant,” he said. “Think about it.” Frowning, he turned over Clint’s arm to see the deep gash running up Clint’s forearm. “Shit, Clint, this is going to need stitches, too.”

Shrugging, Clint glanced away. One of the Hydra thugs had gotten lucky when Clint had hesitated, distracted by yet another familiar face turned enemy. “The swords aren’t enough?” he said, more in an attempt to ignore the sharp sting of the needle rather than any real interest.

“If you want people to recognize you as Ronin, and not just some guy with swords, then yeah,” Jasper said. His fingers never stopped moving, his eyes fixed on the needle as he stitched up Clint’s shoulder, but this close, there was no hiding how Jasper’s muscles had tensed. “Besides, if you’re going to try and burn the world down as you self-destruct, you might as well do it with a little style.”

Clint froze, every muscle locking tight. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled.

Jasper looked up, and for the first time since Romania, Clint really  _ saw _ the deep, burning anger in Jasper’s eyes. “It means, I know exactly what you’re doing,  _ Hawk _ ,” he said. “But I never said I was going to  _ stop _ you.”

Clint swallowed, his stomach clenching at Jasper’s stark reminder that Clint wasn’t the only one in pain. That his life wasn’t the only one that had crumbled to dust around him. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Jasper echoed, lapsing into silence as he finished sewing up Clint’s wounds and covering them with gauze.

Nodding his thanks, Clint paused as Jasper began packing up the first aid kit. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need any help with…” He waved his arm at the left-over gauze.

“Nah,” Jasper said. “Just bruises.”

Nodding again, Clint wordlessly headed for the kitchen. Once, he would have had a quip on his tongue or a smirk on his face, but now he couldn’t even muster up the energy. He wasn’t sure he had any masks left, and the truth would be obvious to Jasper with little more than a glance. Clint wasn’t the man he’d been a year ago.

He was just the echo of what was left.

<*>

Clint jerked awake barely an hour later, the sounds of his name echoing hauntingly in his ears. His hand automatically reached for the bow by his bed, but it wasn’t there. Not anymore.  _ Hawkeye _ carried a bow.

Ronin didn’t.

His chest heaving as he struggled for air, Clint breathed deeply, trying to blink back the tears prickling his eyes. He was alone, the motel room dark and silent around him. He’d had the same dream on and off for months, and it wasn’t even one of the more terrifying ones. There was no icy blue or Loki, just Coulson and a safehouse in Monte Carlo. The memories might even have made Clint smile, if not for the way his mind had blurred the line between fantasy and reality. Phil hadn’t kissed him on that mission, they hadn’t held hands or made love in the moonlight, but when Clint closed his eyes, he could see it all so clearly. Everything he had longed for but was now forever outside of his reach.

He glanced over towards where Jasper had bunked down on the other bed with a certain sense of wistfulness. It had been a long time since Clint had the ability to sleep with someone else in the room. He just couldn’t let his guard down enough anymore. He watched Jasper for a long minute, but the other man didn’t stir, worn out by the adrenaline and fear of raiding another Hydra base. Clint couldn’t exactly blame him.

Sighing, Clint pushed himself to his feet, pushing aside his nest of blankets. He grabbed his battered pack of cigarettes and pulled on a loose jumper before slipping outside onto the apartment’s narrow balcony. He slid down to sit on the cold concrete, ignoring how it seeped in through his jeans, and leaned back against the wrought iron railing. Lighting a cigarette, Clint breathed out a plume of smoke and tipped his head back, staring up at the few stars that winked through the clouds.

Maybe that was the price Clint had to pay for his betrayal under Loki’s control. To be haunted by dreams of what he’d always wanted, his deepest fantasies, only to be reminded that he could never have them. Maybe if he’d gone with Natasha to find Fury when he could have, or maybe if he’d had the strength to face what Bobbi was telling him. Maybe then Clint could have had a chance, but not now.

He’d walked away, and Clint would have to pay the price for that.

Clint stayed out there, smoking his pack of cigarettes until dawn lit the sky and the city finally began to stir. Rubbing a hand over his hair, Clint scanned the buildings around him as he shifted, trying to get his cold and stiff body moving enough to head back inside, when he caught a flash of light. Freezing, Clint snapped his eyes back to the roof of the apartment building across the street and a few feet to the left. The flash didn’t come again, but Clint caught a glimpse of a man in a ball cap and jacket ducking back out of sight behind a chimney.

Fuck. Had Hydra found them?

Swallowing down his sudden icy fear, Clint was about to launch himself inside in search of a weapon, when the man leaned back out to look at him. Clint blinked, his brain cataloging details he’d missed the first time. The man looked worse than Clint felt, but most importantly, he  _ wasn’t armed _ . There was no rifle fixed on Clint’s position, no bullet with his name on it. Instead, Clint’s lungs shuddered, his throat squeezing as he found himself looking into the scared and shocked eyes of  _ the Winter Soldier _ . Or at least, a man who might have once been the Winter Soldier.

Clint had only seen him once, a hurried glimpse as he tried to get to Natasha after she’d been shot protecting a nuclear scientist, but it was the same face. The Soldier’s hair was scruffier now, his face covered in stubble and he wore the torn, dirty clothes of someone sleeping on the streets, but it was him.

The only questions were why was he watching  _ Clint _ ?

And what the hell was Clint going to do about it?

<*>

When he could finally get his legs to work, Clint staggered inside. After their eyes had caught for the second time, the Winter Soldier had vanished, but Clint’s gut said he’d be back. Clint still had no idea what the Soldier was searching for, but his appearance and the lack of shooting suggested he wasn’t working for Hydra anymore.

Hopefully.

“Jesus, Clint,” Jasper said. Clint belatedly realized Jasper was leaning against one of the counters in the tiny kitchen. “Have you been out there all night?”

“No,” Clint denied.

Jasper frowned. “You can’t keep doing this,” he said, stepping forward. “Phil wouldn’t want…”

“Don’t,” Clint said harshly. It wasn’t the first time Jasper had tried to talk about Phil, but Clint wasn’t ready to listen. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be ready.

He’d  _ mourned _ Phil. He’d grieved for the agent and for the man, trying to hold onto the flickering warmth that had been Phil’s memory. Clint could still feel that bittersweet pride at all the ripples Phil’s existence had made, about how many lives he’d changed for the better. And it wasn’t as if Phil’s apparent resurrection had changed that -- Phil was still the same man. Except, somehow, it had. The bittersweet memories had just turned bitter and Clint found himself being left behind once again.

_ Love is weakness _ .

Sometimes Clint wondered if something inside him had died the same day Phil had. He was still breathing, but his heart wasn’t quite beating the same in his chest. It was like there was a fundamental piece of him missing and it was never coming back.

Straightening, Clint pushed passed Jasper, jerking away when Jasper reached out a hand. A little unsteady on his feet, Clint hit the wall with his back, pain flaring across his ribs and the bruises between his shoulder blades. The reminders of what he’d shared with Phil were everywhere: articles in the newspaper mentioning places from Strike Team Delta mission, the scent of coffee in the morning. It was like little needles underneath Clint’s skin, digging at the raw wounds he was trying so hard to hide.

“Please,” he whispered. “I can’t… Not yet.” Maybe not ever.

“You’re going to have to face him one day, Hawk,” Jasper said as Clint attempted to flee into the bathroom for a shower. “If not for your sake, then for his.”

Clint hesitated, but there was nothing he could say to that, so he didn’t bother.

<*>

When Clint reappeared after his shower, Jasper had  _ buchty _ and coffee waiting. Clint smiled gratefully, tearing into one of the sweet dough buns, unexpectedly hungry. The two men ate in silence for a while before Jasper passed over Clint’s coffee and sighed.

“So,” Jasper said. “We staying or leaving?”

Clint glanced at him, and then back down at his coffee. “I’m not sure yet,” he said.

“Okay,” Jasper replied.

Jasper was being more passive about everything that Clint had expected, and anger flared through his chest. He swallowed it down as best as he could, instead pushing himself away from the counter and walking over to what Jasper had taken to calling his ‘conspiracy wall’. Newspaper clippings, stolen intelligence files and handwritten scraps covered one of the apartment’s walls, linked and connected by various bits of string. It was hardly a SHIELD briefing, but Coulson had taught Clint the benefits of old-school spying, had-

Clint ruthlessly cut off his thoughts as Jasper stepped up beside him. “I keep feeling like we’re missing something,” he said, nodding towards the wall. There was a pattern to the Hydra safehouses and outposts, to the way Rumlow and his team were retreating, but Clint just couldn’t see it.

Jasper snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “Who’s giving the orders. That’s what we’re missing.”

Clint turned to him. “Do you know who’s giving the orders?” he asked, something wild and bright sparking in his chest.

Jasper’s face tightened and his jaw clenched. “Not all of them by name, but I know where to start,” he said. “And as much as I’d like Rumlow’s head on a pike, those are the bastards we really need to go after.”

Clint swallowed, closing his eyes for a second. “Them?” he echoed, even though it made sense.

_ Cut off one head and two more shall take its place _ .

“Fuck,” he breathed. He glanced at Jasper out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not all. We have someone watching us.”

“Watching us?” Jasper’s gaze immediately snapped to the half-covered window. “ _ Barton _ …”

“He’s not here to kill us,” Clint said.

“ _ He _ ?” Jasper said, zeroing in on the word, even as his gaze narrowed dangerously. Then he closed his eyes. “You know who it is.”

Clint glanced at the window himself, a spike of icy chill cutting through the bitter numbness he’d shielded himself with. “I suspected,” he said. “I only glimpsed him once before this, after he shot Natasha and the scientist she was protecting. I…”

Jasper swore, spitting out the mixture of English and Spanish as his dark eyes burned with anger. “The  _ Winter Soldier _ ? The Winter Soldier is watching us and you didn’t think to say anything until  _ now _ ?  _ Fuck _ , Barton!”

“Well, it’s not like he shot me!” Clint snapped back, his voice rising and the burning, twisting anger surging up from his chest. He let out a slow breath, trying to unclench his teeth. “I went outside for a smoke, yesterday at dawn. I didn’t even know he was there until he’d had a clear shot at me for over five minutes.”

Clint ran a hand through his hair, finally turning to face Jasper. He couldn’t explain the tangled instinct hiding under the burning anger blistering through his veins, only that it felt like the urge that had stopped him from shooting Natasha all those years ago.

“I don’t even think he had a rifle, Jasper,” he said, suddenly exhausted. “He’s just… watching.”

Jasper frowned. “And how do we know he’s not just reporting what he sees back to Hydra?”

Clint glanced at the window, and then back at Jasper. “Hydra doesn’t send the Winter Soldier on surveillance missions,” he said.

Jasper closed his eyes and cursed. “Fine,” he said, blinking open his eyes again. “Let’s go with your instincts and assume the  _ Winter Soldier _ isn’t going to harm us. So why  _ is _ he here?”

Clint let out a sigh. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Clint just didn’t think the Soldier was a threat. Only, he couldn’t say  _ how _ he knew that. “Maybe he got away from Hydra in all the chaos.”

Jasper frowned, but his dark eyes held an aching sadness. “I’m not sure the Winter Soldier is someone who  _ can _ get away from Hydra,” he said quietly.

Clint shot him a sharp glance, his entire body tensing. “What the hell does that mean?” he snapped.

“It means I saw him while I was undercover and it wasn’t pretty,” Jasper said, his tone filled with bitter anger. He sighed, deflating a little. “Hydra’s way more fucked up that we thought, Hawk,” he said. “The Soldier isn’t working for Hydra willingly. I don’t know what kind of brainwashing it is, but it’s creepy as fuck.”

Clint flinched. Brainwashing? For an instant, the world washed icy blue. After the mess and the heartbreak of watching SHIELD crumble, after learning about  _ Phil _ , Loki’s insidious voice had faded from the back of Clint’s mind, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten for a single second what he’d done under Loki’s orders. He blinked back to himself at Jasper’s touch, his hands shaking.

“You okay, Hawk?” Jasper said.

“I’m fine,” Clint growled. He ignored the flash of hurt in Jasper’s eyes when he yanked his arm away from Jasper’s hand. “Is there any way to get the Soldier out? Can we break Hydra’s hold on him?”

“I… really don’t know,” Jasper said. “It’s… Hydra’s had him for a long time.” He looked straight at Clint, holding his gaze. “The Winter Soldier used to be James Buchanan Barnes.”

The name exploded through Clint’s mind like buckshot. “ _ Fuck me _ ,” he hissed.

It had been impossible to be friends with Phil and not know who Bucky Barnes was, even if Clint hadn’t felt an affinity towards the other sniper. To think that  _ Hydra _ had brainwashed him for all these years…

“Wait,” Clint said, ice spearing through him as another thought struck. “Hydra sent  _ Bucky Barnes _ to kill Captain America? That’s…”

“Sick and twisted and completely fucked up?” Jasper said sardonically. “That’s Hydra.”

A bright, burning ember flared up under the cold filling Clint’s chest. Just like it had the first time he’d seen Natasha in the snow, except this time the ember was fanned by everything he’d been made to do under Loki’s command. “We have to do something,” he said. “We can’t just leave him under Hydra’s control.”

Jasper glanced away. “I don’t want to either, Hawk. I’m just not sure how much of Barnes there is left to save.” He held up a hand when Clint opened his mouth to protest, his gaze bleak. “I saw him. I don’t know if it was Pierce’s attempts to show off his power or what, but I saw him.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “They kept him on ice when they didn’t need him. Cryogenically frozen. And every time he remembered a glimpse of who he was, they wiped his memory.”

Jasper turned back. “ _ Every _ time, Hawk,” he said. “And each time, he just  _ waited _ . For them to wipe his memories. Again. Because who said Hydra isn’t a bunch of sick, maniacal  _ psychopaths _ ?”

Clint shuddered, his heart slamming in his chest. “How is Barnes even still alive?” he said.

“Zola,” Jasper replied. “Zola experimented on him during the war. Zola was trying to replicate the serum they used on Captain Rogers.”

_ Shit _ . Clint needed a drink, but he doubted the alcohol would help. He laughed bitterly. “Well, at least my life isn’t that fucked up,” he said.

Jasper ran a hand over his face. “That’s not really much of a comfort,” he said. “And it gets worse.”

“Worse how?” Clint said, wondering if he was going to regret asking.

The more Jasper told him, the more Clint found it difficult to cling to the mask of Ronin. The mask of not caring. Part of him wanted to shut out the words, to go back to the simple world of Ronin, of revenge and violence and little else. Ronin wouldn’t care about rescuing Barnes, not unless it also dealt a large blow to Hydra’s operations. But Hawkeye -- but  _ Clint _ \-- couldn’t turn his back. He just  _ couldn’t _ . Even if he wasn’t the man Phil and Natasha believed him to be, he still needed to help Barnes.

“Before his death, Zola downloaded a copy of his mind into databanks and turned himself in a computer,” Jasper said bluntly.

Clint blinked. “What?”

“He turned himself into a computer,” Jasper repeated. “At Camp Lehigh. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff destroyed it before they took down the Helicarriers.”

Clint’s heart squeezed in his chest. He’d refused to ask about Natasha, just like he’d refused to let Jasper talk about Phil. It hurt too much. That was Clint’s fault, too.

“Do you think there’s another version of Zola out there?” Clint asked.

“Well, if I was going to download my entire brain, I’d probably make a backup,” Jasper said dryly. “Or at least build in some sort of mechanism to have my systems updated.” He shrugged. “Fury said that Zola was on old school databanks at Camp Lehigh. These days, you could probably stick the same amount of data on a portable hard drive.”

“You know, jokes about Tony Stark building Skynet suddenly don’t seem funny anymore,” Clint said, and then closed his eyes as his heart jerked in his chest. Phil had always said that, particularly after his long stint of babysitting Stark in Malibu.

Jasper’s hand came to rest on Clint’s shoulder, and this time Clint didn’t shrug it off. “So, what’s the plan?” Jasper asked.

Opening his eyes, Clint breathed out slowly. “Do you think there’s any way of tracking any versions of Zola out there?” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Jasper replied. “That kind of thing was never my area of expertise.”

Clint nodded. He’d expected that. It was hardly his area, either. “Right, so I guess that leaves us with tracking Rumlow again instead,” he said.

Frowning, he turned to his ‘conspiracy wall’ again. Tracking Rumlow had been slow going, because like all the members of S.T.R.I.K.E, he was a former Special Forces soldier and very good at evasion. Even so, Clint had been putting a few things together. The small bases Rumlow and his team were hitting were fine for resupplying, but they didn’t seem to have any other real tactical value. Rumlow’s route through Europe had been indirect at best, which Clint  _ knew _ was an attempt to lose Ronin -- but it didn’t really help Clint figure out where Rumlow was ultimately trying to go.

“I am going to take great pleasure shooting Rumlow in the face,” Jasper said darkly.

Clint sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’ll get your chance, Jas,” he said, because Clint wasn’t the only one hurting. “I’ll make sure of it.”

<*>

_ Pila, Poland _

Clint swallowed, staring down at the gear laid out on the scarred wooden table. Jasper had found them another rundown apartment to hide out in on their never-ending hunt for S.T.R.I.K.E, just like he’d found Clint a few new pieces of Ronin’s ‘uniform’. Clint just wasn’t sure what he thought about it. Uniforms had really been more of Hawkeye’s thing.

At least Rumlow and S.T.R.I.K.E were getting more desperate. There was a base about fifty miles west of Pila, and it was bigger than the others had been, the security tighter. Clint was really hoping that meant more intel on who was giving the orders, and maybe even one of the senior Hydra agents being on base. Clint’s fingers itched to do a little damage.

“You okay?” Jasper asked, quietly stepping up beside Clint.

Part of Clint wished Jasper would stop asking that, but the concern was also… nice. “Why do you keep asking that, Jas?” Clint said, honesty reaching up and taking control of his tongue. “I might not be the most self-aware guy on the planet, but even I know I’m really not okay.”

He swallowed, not able to turn and look Jasper in the face, but the burning pressure in his chest lessened a little.

“I can tell you,” Jasper said, “but you may not like the answer.”

Clint squeezed shut suddenly stinging eyes. “You ask because Phil would want you to,” he whispered, his throat tight.

“Yeah,” Jasper agreed with a sigh. “But I’m also worried about you. You’re my friend.”

Clint let out a shaky breath. “Thanks,” he said, so softly Jasper might not even have heard it.

He blinked open his eyes. “So this is your idea of a uniform for Ronin, huh?” he said in a stronger voice, squashing all his emotions back into their box. Now was not the time.

“What? You don’t like it?” Jasper said.

“No, it’s…” Clint said, but he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

The black boots and pants with reinforced knees were the same as the old version of his Hawkeye uniform, but the jacket was a subtle gold in the places it had once been purple, running in slim panels down the front. His wrist guards had been turned into something that resembled gauntlets and so had the sleeves of his jacket. The hood and mask were inky black, built to hide everything but Clint’s eyes, and a black harness for his swords and a gold sash finished things off. It reminded Clint a lot of the robe-style outfit Maya had worn when he’d met her, and not for the first time, Clint wondered just how detailed SHIELD’s files on him had been.

“I keep telling you that if you’re going to be Ronin, you need to do it with a little style,” Jasper said. “Maybe throw in a few of your old circus tricks, too. Nothing scares the shit out of bad guys more than good guys jumping out of strange places.”

Clint huffed out his breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was closer than he’d come in a long time. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said quietly.

Jasper nodded. “So we have at least a day before we’re hitting the base, right?” he said.

Clint nodded, curious to see where Jasper was going with this. Jasper nodded back once and walked over to his bags, pulling out a bottle of vodka. “Good,” he said. “Now, do you actually want to talk about what’s bothering you, or should we just get drunk?”

Sending a glare in Jasper’s direction, Clint grabbed the bottle and took a large swig. The alcohol burned as it went down, but it didn’t stop Clint taking a second, larger drink. He passed the bottle back to Jasper, who arched an eyebrow. “I guess drunk it is,” Jasper muttered.

Somehow, they both ended up on the floor, slumped against the wall. It wasn’t the alcohol, not really. Both he and Jasper could handle more than a few drinks before they got sloppy. It was more as if the weight of the world was pushing down on them like added gravity, slowly crushing them beneath the pressure of anger and grief.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jasper asked after a while of silently passing the bottle back and forth.

“That depends what the question is,” Clint said.

Jasper nodded, as if that was a reasonable answer. “What made you come back?” he said. “You could have kept running. Found somewhere to hide. Hell, Barton, you could have become anyone you wanted. Why come back as Ronin?”  _ To fight Hydra _ .

Jasper didn’t say the words, but Clint heard them all the same. He swallowed another burning mouthful of vodka and sent Jasper a sideways glance. Jasper seemed patient enough to wait for the answer, but his eyes were dark and almost blank. Like the spark of anger in them was slowly dying.

“I didn’t come back,” Clint said, because he hadn’t. Not really. Ronin was just another way of running.

Jasper shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he said.

No matter how much he tried to hide it or swallow it down, Clint was still Hawkeye and his eyes were still sharp. This fight was taking so much of Jasper, burning him up, and he was close to giving up.

Without thinking about it, Clint shifted to rest his shoulder against Jasper’s. “Am I?” he said softly. “I don’t think my choice was as noble as that, Jas. I just…” He let out a shaky breath, looking down at his bruised and torn knuckles. “I’m angry. I’m just so fucking  _ angry _ . Taking it out on Hydra was better than taking it out on someone who didn’t deserve it. It’s not a moral choice. I just wanna make something burn.”

Jasper sent him a bitter smile. “You’re not the only one, Clint,” he said. “Something I think going undercover with Hydra finally broke something inside me that nothing else managed.”

“At least we’re still breathing, right?” Clint said. “That’s gotta count for something.”

Jasper looked up at his words, and silently, Clint held out the vodka bottle. Jasper took it, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” he said darkly.

“No,” Clint said, some half-forgotten words sparking in the back of his mind. “Whatever doesn’t kill you, gives you a chance: to run, to hide…” He met Jasper’s gaze. “To hit back.”

Nodding slowly, Jasper turned to glance unseeing at the window. He was silent for a long moment before he seemed to shake something loose. His shoulders relaxed a little, and when he finally looked back at Clint, there was something bright in the back of his eyes. Raising the bottle, Jasper lifted his chin. “I think we need a toast,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” Clint replied, but he didn’t reach for the bottle.

“Yes,” Jasper said, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “To fighting back, because someone fucking has to.”

When Jasper offered the bottle, Clint took it, but he didn’t drink. “No,” he said. “To not letting them win.” Something indefinable kindled in his gut, merging with the blaze of his anger and turning it into something that might just not burn him from the inside out. “I’m done playing by their rules and I’m not going to give Hydra the satisfaction.”

“To not letting them win,” Jasper echoed, the same fire reflected in his eyes.

As the vodka burned a warm path down Clint’s throat, the blossoming hope in his chest solidified into something stronger. Something tenuous and nameless had been woken up inside him in this moment, an important hope given life.

Something no one was going to see coming.

<*>


	18. Maria

_ Stark Tower, New York City _

Maria was so tired she almost wanted to cry. Or maybe she just wanted to find Pierce and punch him repeatedly in the face until  _ he _ cried. Naturally, that betraying, Hydra-loving  _ bastard _ was still alive. He might have escaped his last confrontation with Nick Fury with a bullet wound, but unfortunately, it hadn’t been fatal.

Sighing, Maria ran a hand through her already dishevelled hair. Everything was a fucking mess. Project Insight -- not that she’d ever completely agreed with it -- had been hijacked by Hydra and then destroyed, almost every asset SHIELD had was compromised or evil, and most of the so-called superheroes Maria knew about were in the wind. Hell, there were even reports crossing her desk that the  _ Winter Soldier _ had refused to return to his Hydra handlers and had recently been sighted in the Czech Republic. Because a Winter Soldier running around following his  _ own _ orders wasn’t a terrifying prospect.

About the only bit of good news was Agent Hand’s report that she and her team had secured SHIELD HQ. Most of SHIELD’s communications system was still compromised, but at least Hydra didn’t have it. Maria was going to take the small wins, damn it. Fury had also headed out with Mack to find Agent Hartley and her team of mercenaries and track down any remaining loyal SHIELD agents they could, but it still felt like they were only hanging on by the skin of their teeth.

Maria  _ hated _ it. She was used to having any information she wanted at her fingertips and hundreds of agents to command. And now she was on the run, with Tony Stark’s surprising aid the only thing keeping her off the streets.

Maria huffed out a sigh. Really. She didn’t have time for self-pity. She had the crumbling remains of a world-wide intelligence agency to salvage and a best friend to find, if Jasper ever sent her more than a cryptic text or two from a burner phone. Even finding Agent Romanoff, assuming she hadn’t gone to haul Barton in by his ear, was a bigger priority than Maria and her pride.

Speaking of burner phones, Maria’s gave a buzz on her desk. She snatched it up because it could be Jasper -- or any number of people, really -- and she didn’t want to miss it. “Yes?” she answered.

“Agent Hill,” Victoria Hand greeted. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Maria blinked, because truthfully, Hand was the last woman she’d expected to hear from. She cleared her throat. “Ma’am,” she said reflexively.

Hand snorted. “I’m hardly ‘ma’am’ anymore,” she said dryly.

“Well then, Agent Hand,” Maria replied, emphasizing the agent because Hand had started it. “What can I do for you?”

It had to be something big, because Maria was mostly passing information to Hand through dead drops and Blake and more direct communication -- even via burner phones -- was a risk.

“It’s probably nothing that justifies the risk,” Hand said, echoing Maria’s thoughts. “I just…” She cleared her throat. “Have you heard anything about Agent Hartley?”

Maria blinked again. Victoria Hand rarely hesitated and part of the reason Maria had never warmed up to her was the way Hand was ruthless about calculating risk. It was probably what made her so successful running ops, but Maria had never been able to relax around Hand. For her to be calling Maria just to ask about a particular agent was beyond strange. Not Hydra strange, thankfully. Hand had already proven which side she was on, but it was still strange.

“Ah, not directly,” Maria said. “But Fury’s been in contact with her. Last I heard, she was helping find the few loyal agents still out in the cold.”

“Thank you,” Hand said softly.

And suddenly, Maria  _ got it _ . Everyone had people they cared about. Maria was intimately familiar with the spiralling worry and pain that came from not  _ knowing _ where the people you cared about were and if they were safe.

“Izzy’s tough and smart. She’s also got good friends watching her back,” Maria said. “It may not help completely, but at least you can hang on to that.”

For a moment, Maria thought she’d overstepped because Hand was worryingly silent.

“You know, Agent Hill, I think I owe you an apology,” Hand said. “When I was serving as Interim Director of SHIELD, I was worried about your personal loyalty to Fury and how it might put SHIELD agents at risk.”

_ Can I trust you, Agent Hill? _

After everything that had happened, Maria had completely forgotten that conversation. “Look, I’m--” Maria started.

“I was wrong,” Hand interrupted. “You’re a good woman, Maria.”

Maria blew out a breath that was almost a laugh. “So are you, Victoria,” she said.

“I’ll keep you apprised of any important changes to the current situation,” Victoria replied, back to all business.

“Appreciate it,” Maria said. “And if I hear anything about Izzy, I’ll pass it on.”

“Thank you,” Hand said and hung up.

Maria shook her head, a small smile curving her lips. Times were weird, but shit at SHIELD was  _ always _ weird. Besides, Victoria had reminded Maria of why she was fighting so hard. People mattered.

Except for Hydra double-agents. Those bastards could get fucked.

<*>

Later, a noise at the door of the small office Maria had claimed had her glancing up. Sharon Carter stood in the doorway, two mugs in her hands. “Can’t sleep?” Sharon asked. “Or have you just not gone to bed?”

Maria waved Sharon in and sighed. “I was waiting for a message, actually,” she said.

“Ah,” Sharon said, taking a seat opposite Maria and handing over one of the mugs of tea.

Taking it gratefully, Maria stared down at the dark liquid. “From Jasper,” she admitted.

“Jasper’s tough,” Sharon said, a spark of empathy in her blue eyes. “He’ll make contact again.” Her lips curved up into a small smile. “Probably with a sarcastic comment and a folder full of important intelligence.”

Maria swallowed. “You’re right,” she said. “Jasper can take care of himself. I just…”

“You just can’t help worrying about people you care about,” Sharon said, and hadn’t Maria already had this conversation today?

Sharon reached out to cover Maria’s free hand with her own. The touch was warm and gentle and Maria wanted to turn her hand over and lace their fingers together. She didn’t.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

So much of SHIELD -- so many of her  _ friends _ \-- were scattered because of Hydra, alone and not sure who to trust. Maria wanted to do something about it, wanted to give power to the bitter anger hidden behind her teeth, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not while they were still uncoordinated and had no targets.

“How is the hunting going?” Sharon asked, nodding towards Maria’s Starktab.

Admittedly, using J.A.R.V.I.S and Stark’s computer network had made things easier than they would have been otherwise, but Maria still didn’t know much. Everything was chaos. A chaos that Hydra was feeding, because that was how they worked.

Assholes.

“Truthfully?” Maria said. “I have no idea.” She glanced up at the ceiling, a habit she couldn’t quite stop, even though it was completely unnecessary. “J.A.R.V.I.S, could you bring up the map of known Hydra-connected locations?”

“Certainly, Agent Hill,” J.A.R.V.I.S’ English accented voice replied.

A second later, a holographic map flickered into life, the blue world map covered in small red dots. There were  _ a lot _ of dots, spread across Europe, the Americas and Asia. Africa and the rest of the world were slightly less affected, maybe because Hydra was less worried about the resources there, or maybe because SHIELD had never had the strongest presence in any of those countries. Not enough for many permanent bases, anyway.

Maria shot Sharon a glance, but Sharon was staring at the map, her eyes narrowed in concentration and a frown pulling down at the corners of her mouth. “Coulson sent me that data yesterday,” Maria told her quietly. “Although, thankfully, Agent Hand has already secured what’s left of the Hub and the Cube.”

“And the SHIELD Academy?” Sharon asked, pointing to the third blue dot on the map.

“Agent Weaver reported in and has taken it back,” Maria said. “She’s using it as a refuge for agents who can’t or don’t want to fight. At this point, it’s mostly a large infirmary.”

“Well, that’s something,” Sharon said, but she couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes.

“Yes, but it’s not  _ enough _ ,” Maria snapped, some of her frustration leaking out to colour her voice. “Hydra has too many advantages right now, and we have no idea at what even  _ half _ their plans are.” Maria wanted to pace, but she resisted the urge, instead running a hand through her hair. “Hydra has been planning this for  _ years _ …”

“Exactly,” Sharon cut in. “Hydra  _ has _ been planning this for a long time. We’re hardly going to take them down in a week.”

Maria huffed out a sigh. “Stop being logical,” she grumbled.

Sharon smiled. “It’s like my Aunt Peggy used to say,” she said. “‘Compromise where you can. Where you can’t, don’t. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right.”

Leaning back in her chair, Maria made a conscious effort to relax, even as she couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face. She took a sip of tea. “I don’t suppose former Director Carter has a handbook for fighting Hydra lying around anywhere?” she said dryly. “Or any other tips?”

Sharon’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Well, Aunt Peggy also used to say that the only thing to do with a Hydra agent was punch then in the face,” she said. “Or hit them with a stapler.” Her eyes danced. “She also said a lot of ‘do as Peggy says’ when she was dealing with her old friends.”

Amusement curled through Maria, suddenly making everything seem a little less dire. She’d only met Director Carter a few times, but Peggy Carter had, and always would be, a hero of hers.

“That is advice I will gladly follow,” Maria said.

“It’s like any tangled web,” Sharon said, her eyes drifting back to the map. “We just need to find the right threads to pull to untangle it.” She hummed thoughtfully before glancing back at Maria. “What about Captain Rogers?”

Maria shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him or Agent Romanoff, since we took down the Helicarriers,” she said. “Last I heard, Rogers and his friend Wilson were going after the Winter Soldier.” Maria sighed. “I can only guess that Romanoff is helping him.”

“He’s going after the Winter Soldier, not Hydra?” Sharon said. “Why?”

Maria breathed out slowly. She’d been trying to come up with the words to tell Sharon ever since she’d found out, but there were none. Either way, Sharon deserved the truth. “Because the Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes,” Maria said. “Or he used to be.”

“ _ Bucky _ ?” Sharon breathed, slumping back against her chair. “How is that possible?”

“We don’t know yet,” Maria said, “but my guess would be something to do with Zola.”

Sharon paled a little, but her eyes brightened with anger. “That’s just another reason to bring Hydra down, then,” she said.

Maria toasted Sharon with her mug of tea. “I’ll drink to that,” she said.

<*>

The next morning, Maria was back going over their limited intel and trying to follow Sharon’s advice. She hadn’t quite found the right thread to pull yet, but she was getting closer. She also really hadn’t had enough sleep to be doing this, but one of the benefits of working on one of the private floors of Stark Tower was access to truly delicious coffee. Sharon had joined her again, too, which was also helping improve Maria’s mood. She could admit that, if only in her own head.

It was about the only thing that had. Maria’s research had led her to digging up a whole lot of financial records, tax dodging and shell companies that so far amounted to very little. Maria’s gut was urging her to keep pulling on the thread, that the trail led  _ somewhere _ , but right now, she wasn’t seeing it.

She looked up in gratitude when someone knocked on the door, and then immediately stood up. The instinct to rise when an officer entered the room had never really left her, never mind that Colonel James Rhodes was USAF and Maria had been a Marine.

“Agent Hill, I was wondering if I could have a word?” Rhodes asked.

Maria waved him into her borrowed office, not bothering to cover any of her files or the holographic map of Hydra-controlled SHIELD bases, as Sharon looked between them curiously. Rhodes was probably dealing with enough trouble from his chain of command at Maria’s mere presence in Stark Tower. At best, she and Sharon would be considered members of a disgraced intelligence organisation. Rhodes didn’t need Maria being unnecessarily secretive, too.

“How can I help you, Colonel?” she asked.

“Actually, Agent Hill,” Rhodes said, his grim expression enough to send a shiver of foreboding down Maria’s spine. “I think it’s a case of how I can help you.”

Maria arched an eyebrow, but Rhodes shook his head slightly. “J, can you play the latest news bulletin from CNN?” he said.

“Certainly, Colonel,” J.A.R.V.I.S replied.

A screen that Maria hadn’t even realized was set in the wall flickered into life. The blonde news anchor on the screen looked very serious, blaring headlines rolling beneath her face, and when Maria caught the words, her blood turned to ice.

“ _...The White House Press Secretary commented today that the remains of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division have been branded as terrorists and should be held accountable, not only for the tragic events in Washington DC just over a week ago, but also countless others… _ ”

“Can the US government even do that?” Sharon asked, rising to her feet so she could step closer to the screen. “SHIELD is an international agency.”

“They can,” Rhodes said grimly. “The fact that SHIELD is technically under the control of the World Security Council is part of why Senator Stern and his cronies are pushing for this.”

“Stern is Hydra,” Maria said absently, her mind still reeling.

Rhodes blinked. “Shit.”

Maria stared at the Hydra map without really seeing it. “Hydra’s trying to cut off our resources,” she said. “Most of our agents are scattered right now. Vulnerable. They’re trying to eliminate us.”

“That’s not all,” Rhodes said. “Congress has authorized a US military task force to hunt down any SHIELD agents they can find, and ‘bring them to justice’.”

The skepticism was heavy in Rhodes’ voice and Maria blinked. “You don’t believe that’s what they intend to do?” she said.

“I think it’s mostly a political stunt triggered by Stern to get everyone focused away from Hydra,” Rhodes said. “Colonel Glenn Talbot has been given command of the task force.”

Maria frowned. “Talbot? Why is that name familiar?” she muttered.

“He was formerly under the command of General Thaddeus Ross and his name came up in connection to the Hulk Project,” Sharon said quietly.

“Ross?” Rhodes said, his eyebrows rising. “That’s great. Really.”

Turning to Rhodes, Maria narrowed her eyes. “Why? Is Ross involved in this?” she said.

Rhodes blew out a sigh and nodded. “Rumour has it that the retired General Ross is next in line to be Secretary of Defense.”

Well that wasn’t good. Maria reached for her coffee mug, grimacing when she found it empty. “I’m going to need more coffee to deal with this,” she muttered.

She glanced up and caught Sharon’s worried gaze. “Is there any indication that Ross is Hydra?” Sharon asked.

Maria swallowed heavily. Fuck, she hoped not. “Not as yet,” she replied. “And I don’t think he is. For all his self-interest and general arrogance, Ross isn’t interested in a new world order. I don’t think he’d buy into the Hydra ideology.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sharon said.

“Me, too,” Maria said.

Rubbing a hand over her face, Maria turned away to stare out the one of the ridiculously large windows all over Stark Tower. Beyond the glass, New York City buzzed and hummed, but Maria didn’t really see it. “We need to stop madly chasing things,” she said quietly. “The only thing this chaos is going to do is help Hydra.”

“So what do we do?” Rhodes asked. “What  _ can _ we do?”

That was a good question. Maria breathed out, stepping close enough to the windows to reach out and touch the glass. With the limited resources the remains of SHIELD had, how could they fight Hydra or stay on the run from Talbot’s new strike force?

“Well,” she said, breathing out. “We can start by cutting off Hydra’s supply lines. That’s what they did to SHIELD, and right now they might have a lot of resources, but they’re spread out. Hydra is mostly operating as a group of separate cells. That makes them vulnerable. We can use that.”

Maria turned back to Sharon and Colonel Rhodes. “Thanks to Stark, A.I.M. isn’t a concern anymore, but Cybertek seems to have inherited a lot of A.I.M’s old infrastructure. We can use that, too.”

Rhodes raised an eyebrow. “So what, divide and conquer?” he said.

A grim smile curved Maria’s mouth. “More like divide and obliterate,” she replied. “SHIELD doesn’t have the resources to go after Hydra as a whole, but we can definitely isolate pieces and then blow them up.”

“That’s… pretty ruthless, actually,” Rhodes said.

“That’s Maria,” Sharon countered, shooting Maria a smile that Maria couldn’t interpret. “She’s pretty badass like that.”

Rhodes nodded. “What about Hydra’s leadership?” he asked. “Someone has to be giving the orders.”

“I have a team working on that,” Maria said, her thoughts drifting towards Phil.

“And Talbot?” Sharon said.

Maria frowned. “At this point, we’re just going to have to stay one step ahead of him. If he can’t catch us, he can’t question us.”

Rhodes smiled. “I like the way you think.”

<*>

_ Remains of the Triskelion, Washington DC _

Maria had never been prone to fanciful trips to cemeteries at midnight, but she couldn’t stop the shiver as she crept through the remains of what had once been the  _ Triskelion _ . While the darkness of three in the morning had a tactical advantage, it wasn’t helping the general feeling of apprehension as the skeleton of the building loomed above her. She carefully picked her way over another pile of debris, cautious of the soldiers Colonel Talbot had stationed outside to guard the site. Maria might have been picking her way across the third floor, but you could never be too careful.

“Do you have any idea why Fury wanted to meet us here?” Sharon whispered behind her.

“Not really,” Maria replied just as quietly, “but I assume he has a reason.”

“At least you got to wear your SHIELD catsuit again,” Sharon said.

Turning, Maria arched an eyebrow pointedly. Maria might have dressed for the situation, but she wasn’t the only one wearing a catsuit. Sharon smiled. “Don’t front,” she said. “You love that catsuit.”

“I like practicality,” Maria corrected.

She turned back to skirt around another partially collapsed wall, and missed whatever Sharon muttered in reply. “Excuse me?” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

To her utter surprise, Sharon blushed pink. “I, uh…” she said, angling up her chin defiantly. “I said,  _ I _ like what it does to your ass.”

Maria blinked and absolutely did not trip over a half-destroyed chair. “Well,” she said, gathering her courage because  _ fuck it _ . The world was in chaos and she could flirt with Sharon Carter if she wanted to. “I guess it’s a good thing that I’m leading then, isn’t it?”

Sharon laughed, her blue eyes warming. “Oh, I’d definitely say that,” she agreed.

Hiding a smile, Maria turned back and continued weaving her way to the northeast corner of the building. As expected, Fury was already a dark figure waiting for them, his coat silhouetted against the dim moonlight spilling in through the missing glass. He nodded at both Maria and Sharon when he spotted them, and Sharon turned away to take up watch at one of the blown-out windows, her hand hovering near her gun and her eyes sharp.

“I see you got my message,” Fury said in greeting.

“I see you found your trench coat again,” Maria replied.

Fury’s teeth were a brief flash of white as he smiled. “Well, I do have a reputation to uphold,” he said.

Maria allowed her lips to twitch up in a small answering smile before she got down to business. “Not to be blunt, but why are we here?” she said. “There are easier places for a meeting.”

“There are,” Fury said. “But I needed something.”

“Oh?” Maria said, arching an eyebrow.

Reaching into his coat, Fury pulled something out. When he held it up between his thumb and a finger, Maria realized it was a small black cube. She frowned, because that wasn’t something she’d ever seen around SHIELD. “What is that?” she asked.

“A toolbox of sorts,” Fury said. He smirked a little when Maria just deepened her frown. “It’s a digital storage of collected databases, containing classified files and other information only accessible by the Director of SHIELD.” He shrugged. “I figured Phil could use any advantage he could get.”

“He probably could,” Maria agreed. “And so could you.”

Fury shook his head. “Not for what I need to do,” he said, tucking the small device back into his coat.

“Oh?” Maria said.

“It’s probably too much to hope that Talbot and his task force don’t have a copy of most of the Triskelion’s computer systems,” Fury said. “But I did manage to wipe a few things they hadn't found yet. No sense giving Hydra information they might not have yet.” He opened his mouth, but hesitated, a flash of worry flickering over his face. “Have you heard from Jasper recently?”

Maria nodded, blowing out a sigh. “Just a few cryptic texts from a burner phone,” she said.

His shoulders tense, Fury looked away. “I guess that’s something,” he said.

“There’s something else you might be interested in,” Sharon called out from her watch post. “Captain Rogers and his friend just dodged a patrol and are headed inside the building.”

Maria raised both her eyebrows. “Isn’t this a party?” she said.

Sharon’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Are we intercepting, or sneaking out the back?” she asked.

Fury reached up to activate his comm. “Widow, you’re up,” he said. Glancing back to Maria, he smirked a little. “There’s something I need to talk to Captain Rogers about. Whether or not you join us or sneak out the back is up to you.”

Frowning, Maria looked over at Sharon. Sharon shrugged. “We’re coming with you,” Maria said. “We hardly have a reliable method of communication right now, and someone has to attempt to coordinate this mess.”

Fury’s smirk widened. “And people used to wonder why I asked you to be Deputy Director,” he said.

Maria blinked. She was well aware of the criticisms to her character, job ability and appearance that had been said about her over the years, just like she was equally aware of the snide rumours about her sexuality. It was hardly worse than what other female senior agents had weathered, even in an organisation like SHIELD, which had attempted to be far more progressive than some of their three-letter counterparts. It was also nothing that Fury himself hadn’t endured in one form or another, but it was still nice to have her skills acknowledged.

“They still do,” Maria said. “But being underestimated is an advantage I don’t plan on giving up.”

Sharon smiled. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

<*>

They found Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson searching through half-charred archive files in the basement. Natasha had been waiting at the top of the stairs, but the dim light of flashlights moving had given it away. Maria frowned because Rogers had spent most of his military career leading a small specialized group of soldiers through a warzone and he should have known better. Of course, he could be assuming that there was no one else inside the remains of the  _ Triskelion _ , but it was still sloppy.

Maria nodded to Natasha, who nodded back. She looked better than when Maria had last seen her, but there was still a tension in her shoulders than not even her training could entirely hide. Not surprising, considering what Hydra was up to, but it was rather more likely due to Barton being… well, Barton. Maria had read Barton’s file, but sometimes Barton was his own worst enemy.

“You okay?” she whispered to Natasha anyway.

Natasha flashed her a small smile. “No, but I’m working on it,” she replied.

“Let me know if I can help,” Maria told her.

Natasha nodded again, and then inclined her head to where Fury had already disappeared down the basement stairs. Maria bit back a sigh and turned to follow, Natasha right behind her while Sharon remained upstairs to guard their backs. She couldn’t see Fury in the dark shadows of the basement, his black clothing blending into the dark, but Rogers’ shoulders were tense despite his attempts to act casually, so there was no doubt that the super-soldier had heard them.

“You’ll want to check the files starting in 1980-1983,” Fury said, stepping out of a corner into a convenient pool of light. “Under ‘W’. That was SHIELD’s first documented encounter with the Winter Soldier.”

Wilson jerked a bit in surprise, but Rogers was calm when he turned towards Fury. “Is that so?” Rogers asked, his tone deceptively mild.

Leaning back against the wall, Maria folded her arms across her chest and sighed loudly. She rolled her eyes when both Rogers and Wilson spun towards her, barely managing not to blind her with their flashlights. She was a little amused to see that Rogers was still wearing a baseball cap to hide his face, and was apparently growing a beard. “Can we skip past the dramatics?” she said. “I have places to be.”

Wilson huffed. “You know that would have sounded better if you hadn’t done it as dramatically as he did, right?” he said, jerking his thumb towards Fury.

Maria shrugged. She had a reputation to maintain, but that didn’t mean she and Nick Fury didn’t have a few things in common.

“Agent Hill,” Rogers greeted levelly. “Agent Romanoff.”

“Captain Rogers,” Maria replied.

“Is there anyone else we need to be worrying about?” Wilson said.

Maria glanced at him before she turned back to Rogers. “Agent Sharon Carter is covering our exit upstairs,” she said.

Rogers’ jaw flexed at the name, but he didn’t say anything. Sharon had already told Maria how her cover had been blown when Hydra had attacked Rogers at his apartment, and Rogers was still clearly unhappy about it. Although, whether it was the reminder of who Sharon was related to, or the lying about who she was that was upsetting him was harder to tell.

Fury broke the growing tension thickening the air by stepping forward and heading to one of the archive boxes. Most people were surprised to find out that SHIELD still kept paper files, but archive boxes were surprisingly good at hiding all sorts of things. Besides, Stark couldn’t hack paper.

“This is everything SHIELD has on the Winter Soldier,” Fury said, pulling out a thick file. “At least, everything that’s not in our database.”

“Oh good,” Maria said flatly. “Can we leave now?”

“In a hurry, Agent Hill?” Rogers said, and okay. Apparently Captain America was mad at her. Well, he could get in line.

Maria glared at him. “Yes,” she said. “I already told you I have places to be.”

They made their way upstairs and then headed to the north side of the  _ Triskelion _ where Talbot’s guards patrolled less often. It might have been further from the bridge and the Potomac, but Maria was less than impressed by the hole in security. No matter how much easier it made sneaking around.

Once they were far enough away from Talbot’s men, Rogers stopped and turned towards Fury and Maria. “I guess I should say thanks for the help,” he said, but his tone implied he didn’t really want to.

“You could always just come with us,” Fury countered. “We could use your help taking down Hydra.”

Rogers clenched his jaw, but for a second indecision flashed across his face. “If you need me for something big, I’ll come, but there’s something I have to do first,” he said. “A promise I have to keep.”

Fury nodded. “What about you, Wilson?” he said. “I can always use a man with your skills.”

Wilson glanced at Rogers. “Thanks, but I’m more of a soldier than a spy,” he said.

“All right,” Fury said.

“Where are you headed?” Rogers asked, his fingers tapping on the cover of the file in his hands.

Fury smiled faintly. “To see an old friend,” he said.

Rogers nodded, but before he could say anything else, Natasha reached inside her leather jacket to pull out another file. “Before you go, you’re going to need this,” she said, passing Rogers the folder. “I called in a few favours from Kiev.” She smirked at Fury’s raised eyebrows. “I still have a few contacts Nick doesn’t. I hope you can read Ukrainian.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Rogers said.

Natasha shook her head. “No. Nick’s not the only one who needs to see an old friend,” she said. “Besides, it’s like you said. I need to figure out a new cover.”

Rogers smiled. “Good luck,” he said.

“You, too,” Natasha replied. “And Steve? Be careful. SHIELD wasn’t the only organisation to have Hydra rats. They were inside the KGB, too.” Her gaze darted from Fury to Maria, and Maria was surprised to see the flash of pain in her green eyes. “If you pull on this thread, you may not like where it leads.”

Shit. Maria  _ really _ hoped this would not end up involving the fuckery that was the Red Room.

“I have to,” Rogers said. “I made a promise.”

Maria frowned. Rogers was too damn stubborn for his own good. No wonder Phil liked him so much. “Okay, well now that’s sorted, I’m off,” she said. She turned to Natasha and Fury. “Call me if you need anything.”

Natasha nodded. “Promise,” she said softly.

Nodding back, Maria pointed a finger at Rogers and Wilson. “And you two had better check in regularly,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wilson said with a smirk.

Maria huffed. At least three of them were going to completely ignore her, but that was a problem for tomorrow, because right now, Maria had other things to do. “Ugh,” she said. “I need coffee.”

Sharon smiled, nodding her goodbyes to the others. “Come on then,” she said. “I’ll buy you one.”

<*>

_ St. Paul’s Chapel, Lower Manhattan, NYC _

Fortified with coffee despite the long drive from Washington DC, Maria slipped through the late morning tourists and locals and headed towards St. Paul’s Chapel. The church wasn’t exactly the first thought she’d had for a dead drop location, but Blake had been the one to choose this time, and it wasn’t bad. The crowds staring at the architecture would give Maria cover, and it wasn’t completely out of context for her to be seen inside a church. Her mother hadn’t just named her ‘Maria’ because of her maternal great-grandmother.

Maria slid into an empty pew, three from the back, and bowed her head as if in contemplation and prayer. She’d checked for surveillance on the way in, and she didn’t think anyone was watching, but you could never be too cautious. She carefully reached under the seat, her fingers brushing along the rougher grain of wood until they encountered smooth plastic. The flash drive fit easily into Maria’s palm and she deftly slipped it into her boot before straightening.

Maria tilted her head up, just like any other visitor admiring the columns and chandeliers as she counted down in her head. It wouldn’t fool anyone who actually knew her, but getting up and leaving immediately would be suspicious. It was better to let anyone watching think she was meeting someone in person and they hadn’t shown up.

Before becoming a spy, Maria had been aware of the kinds of sacrifices she’d have to make and she’d already made her peace with doing as much good as she could before she died, probably a lot younger than most. But this --  _ Hydra _ \-- was different. They weren’t a smuggling ring she could smash, or an asset she could rescue. Hydra had been hidden, insidious, spreading out their tentacles and eroding away at all the safeties and freedoms Maria held dear.

What was worse was that they were  _ good _ at it.

Maria sighed. Churches always made her introspective. Her time was up, anyway, and she had other places to be -- and hopefully more data to analyze. Rising smoothly to her feet, Maria slipped into the crowd and out of the church just as another gaggle of tourists arrived, and disappeared.

<*>

_ Stark Tower, New York City _

Maria looked up at the rich scent of coffee and arched an eyebrow as she set her Starktab down on her desk. Sharon Carter stood in the doorway holding two mugs, Colonel Rhodes hovering just behind her shoulder. Unlike his last visit, Rhodes wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he wore a black sweater over a white t-shirt and jeans.

“We come bearing coffee,” he said.

“Then hand it over,” Maria said.

Sharon smiled, holding out one of the mugs towards Maria as both she and Rhodes sat down opposite Maria. “So,” Sharon said, taking a sip of her own coffee. “I assume you made it to the dead drop without any problems?”

Rhodes raised both eyebrows. “Dead drop?” he echoed.

Maria nodded. “With SHIELD’s communications network compromised, it’s the most secure way to contact Agent Blake,” she said.

Rhodes flashed her a grin. “Hey, I get it. Old school works, man.”

Smiling, Maria turned back to Sharon. “The drop went fine,” she said. She gestured to her Starktab. “Blake passed on a whole lot of financial data. J.A.R.V.I.S. is helping me go through it now.”

Sharon nodded, leaning back in her chair. “Find anything interesting?”

“I have, actually,” Maria replied. “It’s about A.I.M.”

“Oh?” Rhodes said.

Maria sighed and sipped her coffee -- she needed it. “Blake found out where Killian got his money to start the company,” she said. “It was laundered through shell companies and fronts, but it all traces back to an investor named Baron Wolfgang von Strucker.”

“Baron?” Rhodes said. “Like the title?” He snorted at Maria’s nod. “So what do we know about this guy?”

“If I may?” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “The only records I have of a Baron Wolfgang von Strucker suggest he was born in the late nineteenth century to a Prussian noble family in Bavaria. I also have records of Wolfgang von Strucker serving in World War 1, and the name appears in a list of known Nazi Party members.”

“Doesn’t he sound like a nice guy,” Rhodes muttered.

“That’s not all,” Sharon said. “I’m pretty sure the name Baron Strucker came up in some of my aunt’s files as someone with links to Hydra.”

“You are correct, Agent Carter,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “The name Baron Strucker appears thirteen times in the files written by Agent Margaret Carter that I have access to.”

Maria blinked, but she wasn’t going to have another debate about just how much information J.A.R.V.I.S. -- through Stark -- had access to, not when it was so useful.

“Maybe Aunt Peggy was referring to the father or grandfather of the current Baron?” Sharon said.

Maria huffed. “Great. Intergenerational assholes.”

“I am uncertain if this is correct,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “I can find no reference to the original Wolfgang von Strucker ever having a son by the same name.”

“But that would make him over one hundred years old!” Maria snapped. Seriously,  _ fuck Hydra _ .

Rhodes shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Either way we’re basically saying that A.I.M. was funded by Hydra, and it’s a very good thing we blew all those creepy bastards up.”

“Except for the part where A.I.M.’s infrastructure and remaining resources were taken over by Cybertek,” Sharon said dryly.

“Cybertek is owned by the multinational conglomerate Quinn Worldwide, founded by Ian Quinn,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “American-born scientist, industrialist and entrepreneur. Has met Mr Stark on several occasions, although Mr Stark does not care for him. Quinn is known for his generous charitable donations, which to date have exceeded eight billion dollars, but are contradicted by his reputation as a ruthless businessman who will shun regulation and oversight to the detriment of the environment and local populations.”

Maria was  _ really _ beginning to like J.A.R.V.I.S. SHIELD needed to recruit an AI just like him because his reports were so much better -- and faster -- than making a junior agent or analyst do it.

“You think Quinn is Hydra?” Rhodes asked.

“No, but I think he aspires to be,” Maria said, failing to keep her distaste from her voice.  _ Fucking Nazis _ . “Killian’s death would have left a gap in Hydra’s upper ranks. He wants to fill it, but I don’t think Hydra is nearly as cohesive as it likes to appear.”

“Infighting?” Sharon asked with a raised eyebrow. “We can use that.”

Maria nodded. “We can,” she said. “We can also use any intelligence that Agent Morse or Agent Simmons bring back.” She glanced at Rhodes. “They’re currently undercover in a Hydra biochemical lab, which according to the financial data I’ve been analyzing, is technically owned by Cybertek.”

Rhodes hummed thoughtfully. “I can have Tony look into it when he gets back, see if we can’t find out anything else,” he said.

“Where  _ is _ Stark?” Sharon asked.

“Last I heard, doing a fly over of Kazakhstan,” Rhodes replied. “He’s been monitoring all the non-Hydra threats that crop up, now that SHIELD can’t do that, but it’s a temporary measure at best.”

“As is what little help I’ve been able to provide Thor and Doctor Foster in London,” Maria said. “Thor seems to have things under control, but I’m coordinating with Agent Hand, anyway.” And hadn’t  _ that _ been a fun conversation. “Someone has to clean up the mess, but we don’t exactly have the resources we used to.”

Sharon cleared her throat. “Which brings up the issue of Colonel Talbot’s taskforce,” she said. “We can’t fight a war on two fronts.”

“Carter’s right,” Rhodes agreed. “You need to give him something to keep him off SHIELD’s back, at least for a while.”

Maria frowned. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it did have some flaws. “We can’t guarantee that Talbot and his team aren’t being manipulated by the World Security Council,” she said. “The Council won’t risk doing anything overt against SHIELD -- not after they deposed Director Fury -- but that doesn’t mean they aren’t pulling strings.”

“It’s a risk we might have to take,” Sharon said grimly.

“She’s right,” Rhodes agreed.

Maria grimaced. She’d spent more than half her career assessing people’s loyalties and taking calculated risks, but this didn’t feel right. Talbot was still too much of an unknown, and if Maria was going to start feeding him information, she wanted to know what kind of man she was dealing with. “I’d still feel better if we knew where Talbot’s orders were really coming from,” she said.

Rhodes arched an eyebrow. “What are you going to do? Bug his office?”

Huh. Seeing Talbot in person -- or at least being able to watch him from a distance -- might help. Turning to Sharon, Maria raised both eyebrows. Sharon shrugged, but a hint of a smile curved the corner of her mouth. “We could probably manage it,” she said.

“If I may also add my assistance, Commander Hill?” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

“Yes, J.A.R.V.I.S., you may,” Maria said.

Rhodes shook his head. “If you’re really going to do this, then you should probably know Talbot’s putting together a temporary headquarters for his taskforce in Syracuse.”

“Near the old SHIELD facility?” Sharon asked.

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s just taken it over,” Rhodes replied. “It gives him access to New York, because he knows you have links to Tony.”

“It’s closer to the Hub than DC, too,” Sharon added.

“Well,” Maria said, smiling at Rhodes. “I guess we have a plan.”

<*>

_ Syracuse, New York _

Luckily for Maria and Sharon, Talbot was still in the process of moving his temporary taskforce headquarters into a secure building when they arrived in Syracuse. The amount of people moving in and out of the building would give Sharon cover, and Maria trusted J.A.R.V.I.S. to gain access to all the information from Talbot’s computer systems they wanted before he was detected. He’d managed it with the SHIELD servers often enough.

“It should be easy enough to get in,” Maria said, lowering her binoculars.

They found empty office space across the road from Talbot’s new operations center, and really that was just sloppy of Talbot. Did he think no one would be watching him?

Instead of her uniform, Maria wore tight black jeans and chunky-heeled boots, with a leather jacket over her t-shirt. It wasn’t her catsuit, but it was close enough, and besides -- it made her look damn good. She watched Talbot through her binoculars, still nursing the kernel of anger in the pit of her stomach.

“Sure,” Sharon said easily. “There’s just one thing I want to do first.”

Maria turned, wondering if Sharon had spotted a problem with their plan, only to find Sharon standing a lot closer than she’d expected. Sharon smiled, and reached out to cup Maria’s cheek, her fingers sliding into Maria’s hair. Maria was too surprised to do more than blink. “What?” she said stupidly.

Sharon leaned in to press her lips against Maria’s, and Maria’s brain shorted out. Sharon was  _ kissing her _ . Reaching up, Maria grabbed the edges of Sharon’s jacket with both hands, and kissed her back. The kiss surpassed all of Maria’s imagined versions of this moment, mainly because this was  _ real _ . She never wanted it to stop. Sharon pressed in closer, her other hand sliding around Maria’s waist and Maria simply sank into it.

When she finally pulled away, Sharon grinned.  “I figured one of us had to do that,” she said.

Maria licked her lips and attempted to find her composure. “We’re going to revisit that later. Repeatedly,” she said. “But first, we need to deal with Talbot.”

Sharon lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll be right behind you,” she said with a smirk.

The next few hours went smoothly. It was embarrassingly easy to plant listening devices on some of Talbot’s personnel. Sharon even managed to pickpocket two of their phones so Maria could plant bugs inside them. Maria was no stranger to one of Sharon’s knee-weakening smiles, but the way those men lost their good sense was shameful. If they’d been Maria’s agents, she would have had them retraining for six months.

After the bugs were planted, Maria and Sharon retreated back into the vacant office space, just in case someone got smart. Maria returned to her vigil by the window -- and she could see right inside Talbot’s floor because Talbot hadn’t even bothered to close the blinds. She couldn’t see into the actual operations center itself -- at least Talbot wasn’t  _ that _ stupid or arrogant -- but she could see enough.

“Commander Hill, I have managed to breach Colonel Talbot’s systems,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said over the comms. Stark had set up a mobile link to help Maria, although Maria had no doubt that Stark was taking a copy of any information for himself, too. “I am now extracting all relevant data.”

“Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Maria replied.

Sharon stepped up to Maria’s shoulder, and Maria ignored the slow flip of her stomach. “See anything interesting?” Sharon asked.

Maria opened her mouth to reply, and then frowned when a new man entered the room next to Talbot. He wasn’t military, but from the way everyone snapped to attention, he  _ was _ important. The man’s greying hair was neatly styled, and he wore a tailored grey suit, white shirt and black tie.

“I don’t know,” Maria said, passing Sharon the binoculars. “Man towards the back of the room, grey suit. What do you think?”

“Son of a bitch,” Sharon cursed, presumably spotting the man, and Maria froze. “That’s Everett Ross.”

“Ross?” Maria echoed.

Sharon lowered the binoculars. “No relation to former General Ross, thankfully,” she said. “But he  _ is _ CIA. I worked with him as a SHIELD liaison on part of that op in Budapest. He works for the Joint Counter Terrorist Center now.”

Maria let out her own curse. “Well, that presents a problem.”

Unfortunately, she was cut off from saying anything else by the shrill ringing of her phone. Maria blinked and pulled it out, because this could not be good news. “Yes?” Maria snapped, answering it.

“Commander Hill,” a male voice greeted. It was calm and confident and Maria couldn’t stop herself from tensing -- it belonged to Colonel Talbot. “I was hoping I might have a word?”

“Oh?” Maria said, shaking her head at Sharon’s raised eyebrow. “And why exactly should I be helping you?”

She gestured silently with the binoculars in the direction of Talbot’s op center, and sure enough, when she looked, Talbot was visible through the window, phone to his ear. From the hand he was waving, Maria guessed he was trying to trace Maria’s location.

“I was hoping that we could resolve this situation peacefully,” Talbot said. “We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

Maria snorted. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “Only one of us belongs to an organisation that was branded a terrorist group on national TV.”

“If you want to prove you’re not a terrorist, then cooperating with me would be a good first step,” Talbot said.

“I’m just supposed to trust you?” Maria replied. “And that you’re not going to stick me in the basement of a black site as soon as you see me?”

“I’m trusting you enough, Commander Hill, to do you the courtesy of this phone call rather than just arresting you,” Talbot said.

Through the window, Talbot was making hurry up motions, and beside him, Ross was frowning. Maria lowered the binoculars again and rolled her eyes at Sharon. “All right, Colonel, how about a gesture of good faith?” Maria said. She’d had enough of the posturing and maybe it was time to take that calculated risk. Beside her, Sharon had a hushed conversation with J.A.R.V.I.S. and nodded.

“If you really want to find out what’s going on, look into Cybertek,” Maria said. “Follow the money. They’re not what they appear to be.”

“Commander Hill, I don’t have time to chase down everyone you have a vendetta against,” Talbot said, frustration beginning to leak into his voice. “My job is to investigate SHIELD.”

Maria hummed. It was far too easy to lead Talbot where she wanted him to go. “I never said they weren’t connected to SHIELD.”

She let that sink in. “Now it’s your turn, Colonel,” she said. “I want your assurances that your investigation of SHIELD will be completely independent, and that you’re not working with any other organisation. Including the CIA.”

Through the binoculars, Maria watched Talbot exchange a glance with Everett Ross. Beside them, one of Talbot’s team shook her head when Ross asked her something, presumably because J.A.R.V.I.S. was making it hard to track Maria’s phone signal.

“My team is completely independant,” Talbot began.

“Oh, I’m not sure I believe you, Colonel,” Maria interrupted.

Talbot stiffened. “And why is that?” he asked.

“It’s simple, Colonel,” Maria said, and she shouldn’t -- she  _ knew _ she shouldn’t -- but the temptation was too much. “There’s a CIA agent standing right next to you.”

Maria smirked as she hung up the phone, Talbot and his men a sudden flurry of activity across the street. “Time to go,” she said, lowering the binoculars.

It would take time for Talbot to work out which building she was in, and even then Maria had left a few surprises to slow him down. She had a safe route down to a waiting car ready and waiting, and Sharon was watching her back. Perhaps it would have been safer to not mention she was watching him at all, but for once in her life, Maria hadn’t bitten back the impulse. It had been particularly satisfying to watch the surprise flash across Talbot’s face when he realized she wasn’t in New York like he thought she was.

The world -- Talbot included -- seemed to think SHIELD was gone, unable to do anything about the growing threats. They’d forgotten what a good SHIELD agent could do with the right motivation. Maria figured it was time to remind everyone. They might be alone, without WSC backing or most of their resources, but SHIELD agents were always dangerous.

Talbot -- and Hydra -- were about to find out how much.

<*>


	19. Phil

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Phil was slowly going mad. His mind was buzzing with an overload of information, and his skin was so itchy he could barely sit still. For all his planning, they still didn’t have a detailed map about how to attack Hydra, and the inaction was slowly killing him. In between briefings and intel reports, Phil had counted exactly how many steps it took to get from his desk to the door, or to the bathroom down the hall. Hell, he could even map the bedroom he’d taken from memory.

It didn’t help that the nightmares plaguing him prevented him from sleeping more than about three hours at a time.

Trying to burn off the excess energy, Phil retreated to what Agent Koenig had set up as a temporary range. It probably had been a range, back in the day, but it had long since been stripped of almost anything useable. At least until now. They probably didn’t really have the ammunition to spare, either, but Phil hoped that shooting a few paper targets might quiet his brain a little.

Although, truthfully, what Phil really wanted was to hear the soft ‘thwack’ of arrows hitting paper and padding as Clint made increasingly funny shapes in the targets. Their bouts of companionable silence on the SHIELD range had been more relaxing than Phil had been willing to admit, particularly when Clint had followed them with a casual invitation to grab dinner or coffee. No matter how much Phil’s heart was quietly breaking right now, it was Clint’s friendship he missed the most.

When Phil’s clip ran out, he frowned at his target. He lacked Clint’s flair for the dramatic, and really, the smiley face etched in bullet holes just made Phil want to tear the target down. Phil sighed, putting his gun down, and then slipped off his ear protectors and safety glasses. Maybe he should just stick to disassembling and then reassembling his gun a few times. God knew he was still slower at that then he should be.

He was just pulling down the used target when a low whistle caught his attention. “Wow, are you really that bored, AC?” Skye asked.

Phil glanced over his shoulder. Skye wore leggings and a tank top, and it was early enough in the morning that she was probably attempting part of Melinda’s training regime. Phil glanced back at the target. “No, ah… I was just thinking of someone,” he admitted.

“Your guy,” Skye said softly.

“He’s not my anything,” Phil denied, mostly out of habit.

“Uh huh,” Skye replied skeptically. Her smile faded and her dark eyes searched his face. “He wasn’t, but you wanted him to be.”

Phil really had to remember how perceptive Skye could be. She’d make an amazing agent with a little more experience, but her uncanny ability to guess all Phil’s secrets wasn’t helping Phil feel any better. “What I want is mostly irrelevant,” he said quietly.

“No, it’s not,” Skye told him, but thankfully kept her distance. “At least that answers some of the questions I had about you and Nick, though.”

Phil blinked. “Me and Nick?”

Skye nodded. “Yeah, I mean Nick is pretty hot in a terrifying, badass kind of way, and you read each others' body language way too well,” she said. She shrugged, but there was a spark of teasing humour in her eyes. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility to think you guys slept together.”

Phil coughed, blinking again. “Ah, no,” he said. “Nick and I have never slept together.”

It wasn’t as though Phil denied Nick was handsome, but if the spark of attraction had ever flared between them, it had long ago settled into a warm friendship Phil wasn’t sure he could ever live without. “Nick is… he’s my best friend and probably the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother,” he said. “Without Nick, I would have died a thousand times over.”

He swallowed heavily as his own words hit him.

Without Nick, Phil  _ would _ still be dead.

“You know, I think I’m kind of jealous of that,” Skye said quietly.

Phil forced a smile. “Don’t count it out yet,” he said. “Nick was kind of an asshole when we met. It took saving the world together for me to even start liking him.”

Skye chuckled. “Noted,” she said.

She lapsed into silence, her shoulders hunched as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her tank top. “Um, while we’re talking AC, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Phil’s stomach clenched, ice flooding his veins, but he bit back the reaction. “What is it?” he asked, his voice almost pulling off Agent Coulson’s unflappable calm.

Skye blew out a sigh, the rush of air loud in the quiet of the range. “Okay, so I  _ really _ don’t know how to say this, but…” She trailed off, glancing at Phil. “For the record, Agent May already knows most of this.”

She shook her head faintly. “Okay, so I grew up in the Saint Agnes Orphanage, because I never knew my parents. And since then, I’ve kind of spent my whole life trying to find any details I can about my parents and where I came from. About who they were and why they left me…”

Phil’s eyebrows rose. That was… a lot. Skye’s strength continued to impress Phil, particularly in contrast to the crumbling remains of his own.

“Apparently, everything about me boils down to about three sheets of heavily redacted paper,” Skye continued, an undercurrent of bitterness clear in her voice. Phil barely had time to register the word ‘redacted’ before Skye was glancing up at him. “The documents, they’re from…”

“SHIELD,” Phil said flatly.

“Yeah,” Skye agreed, hunching her shoulders. “It’s why I learned how to crack systems in the first place, because I couldn’t find any trace of my parents aside from one document. A SHIELD document.”

“So when you heard I worked for SHIELD,” Phil said, his thoughts drifting back to their first meeting in New York City. “You hoped you could get access to SHIELD’s files on you.”

Skye’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t why I agreed to help you!” she said. “I did just want to help find your team.”

Phil winced. “Sorry,” he said. “I do know that. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you didn’t want to.” He gave into the impulse to rub his forehead.

Skye nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little. “I have been looking with the access you gave me,” she admitted. “Just a little, and nothing that would jeopardize our hunt for Hydra, I promise.”

Phil believed her, even if his heart lurched painfully in his chest. Sometimes, Skye reminded him so much of Clint.

Glancing away, Skye sighed. “That’s not all,” she said. “I know… Ward told me…” She huffed. “I was born Daisy Johnson. And apparently Hydra -- or maybe just Ward -- knows who my father is.”

Phil’s stomach had clenched at the first mention of Ward’s name, but he felt sick at the implication of Ward’s manipulation. “You were born Daisy Johnson?” he asked instead, focusing on the less creepy part of Skye’s statement.

“I don’t really feel like Daisy yet,” Skye said. “Maybe I never will.”

“That’s not a decision you have to face now,” Phil told her. “You should be able to go searching for your past and your father on your own terms. Without Hydra.” He swallowed, hesitating. He wanted to help, but Phil also didn’t want to make yet another promise he’d end up breaking. “When this is all over, and we’re not on the run anymore, I’ll help you,” he said.

Skye smiled. “You know, Agent May said the same thing,” she said. “Thanks, Coulson.” Pausing, she eyed him. “But maybe only  _ after _ you find your guy, okay?”

Phil opened his mouth to protest, but Skye stepped forwards to lay a hand on his arm. “It’s okay to be a little selfish and want to find him, okay?” she said.

“Okay,” Phil replied.

<*>

Phil breathed out, staring down the barrel of his gun at the paper target. The gun was empty, but this time Phil had managed to assemble it without his hands shaking and within his self-imposed time limit, which was better than he’d done all morning.

“Should I be worried?” Melinda asked from the doorway.

Putting down his gun, Phil turned to her. “Is anything I say going to stop you from worrying anyway?” he said.

Melinda blinked, arching an eyebrow, but her shoulders relaxed at Phil’s attempt at humour. He could understand. He’d hardly been his old self lately.

“And you?” Melinda said, glancing at Skye.

Skye looked up from where she’d been attempting the same thing Phil had -- disassembling and reassembling a gun -- with a huff of frustration. “Well, I’m not a former Ranger or anything, but I’m getting there,” she said.

Melinda’s eyes flicked towards Phil, and he nodded. “She’s doing not bad,” he said.

“Please, don’t gush with the compliments or anything,” Skye muttered.

“Good,” Melinda said with a nod to Phil.

Phil turned around to face Melinda properly. “How did the dead drop go?” he asked.

“Fine,” Melinda replied. “I’ve left Trip decoding the intel from Bobbi, but it appears we have a name for the head of Hydra’s R&D cell: Dr. Daniel Whitehall.”

Phil blinked. “That’s good news,” he said.

“I’ll head up to help Trip as soon as I’m done here,” Skye added.

Melinda nodded. “That’s not all,” she said, but the muscle in her jaw clenched, just slightly, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Nick’s en route. He has news.”

“What’s wrong?” Phil said. A million grim scenarios played through his mind, but Melinda wasn’t tense enough for things to be truly fucked up. 

“I don’t know,” Melinda said. “He didn’t say.”

Both Phil’s eyebrows rose. Melinda was  _ angry _ . Ever since Bahrain, Melinda’s anger had always hovered closer to the surface, even as she fought harder not to let it show, but this was more than that. Idley, Phil wondered what it was exactly that Nick had managed to do. “How long until Nick gets here?” he asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Melinda replied. Then, with a nod to both him and Skye, she retreated again.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Skye said quietly, coming up beside Phil after Melinda had left. “Is the former Director Fury sleeping with  _ May _ ?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Phil said before he thought about it.

Blinking, he turned to Skye, opening his mouth to deflect his own words, but Skye’s eyes were already bright with humour and curiosity. “Woah. There’s  _ so _ a story there,” she said. She cocked her head to the side. “But I think I can guess. They’re not sleeping together, but they want to.” She rolled her eyes. “Is everyone at SHIELD as emotionally repressed as you all are?”

“Just the senior agents,” Phil said dryly. “It’s what makes us good spies.”

“That’s screwed up,” Skye called after him as he headed out of the range to go see Trip. “You know that, right?”

Honestly,  _ screwed up _ wasn’t even half of it.

<*>

Twenty minutes later, after a quick shower, Phil emerged to find Koenig waiting to greet their guests. As expected, Skye, Trip and Melinda were also hanging around -- Skye and Trip were trying to be casual about it, but Melinda simply walked up to stand beside Phil, her hands folded across her chest.

“Sir, Director Fury’s car has just pulled up,” Koenig reported, his eyes fixed on his Starktab, which had been linked in to the bunker’s new security network.

“Thank you, Agent Koenig,” Phil replied.

A minute later, the door rumbled open and the familiar figure of Nick Fury strode through. Phil had to raise his eyebrows at the presence of Nick’s black trenchcoat and eyepatch, because last time they’d met, Nick had been trying to keep a much lower profile. Phil wondered what had changed, and just what problems that was going to cause. A woman entered just behind him, her hair a flash of red, and the air froze in Phil’s lungs.

Natasha.

Whatever Nick called out in greeting was lost to the buzzing filling Phil’s ears. His pulse thundered in his throat and his eyes prickled with tears, even as he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Natasha. She was frailer than Phil had seen her in a long time, her skin pale and dark shadows staining the underneath of her eyes. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and her clothes were dirty and a little worn, but she was  _ there _ . Safe and more or less whole.

“Natasha…” he said, his voice hoarse, as he stepped forward.

Natasha didn’t even pause beside Nick, instead stepping straight up to Phil and pulling him into a tight hug. Phil surrendered to it, closing his eyes as the tears threatened, his own hands fisting in her jacket. “Phil,” she whispered brokenly.

Phil sucked in a few deep breaths, unwilling to let Natasha go. Thankfully, Natasha seemed in no rush to step back. God, Phil had missed her, but he hadn’t really  _ known _ how much until this moment. He wanted to ask her so many things -- how she was, what she’d been doing -- and there were so many apologies she deserved, but for now he just needed another second to swallow down the wave of emotions lodged in his throat.

“I thought you didn’t like hugs?” he said softly into her vanilla-scented hair, vainly reaching for his old self.

“It’s a new thing,” Natasha whispered. “I’m trying them out.”

“Okay,” Phil said. He hugged her tighter, letting Natasha curl into his chest and hide her face on his shoulder. She wasn’t crying, because Natasha held herself together better than that, but fine tremors shook her body. “Stay as long as you want.”

Natasha huffed out a soft watery laugh. “Phil,” she said gravely, leaning back enough to stare at him with green eyes bright with tears. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m really glad you’re not dead too, Tasha,” Phil whispered back, closing his eyes as he leant forward to rest his forehead against hers. Shuddering, Phil let himself breathe in her familiar scent, uncaring of everyone who was watching. Phil reminded himself that Natasha had survived far worse things than the WSC and Hydra, and that she'd fight her way through this like everything else. “So very glad,” he repeated, because it was true.

“Okay,” Natasha said firmly, pulling back to fix Phil with a pointed look. “Enough emotion. We have things to do. I may be trying new things, but falling apart in front of witnesses is not one of them, no matter how many people come back from the dead.”

Phil couldn’t help it. He laughed. The sound was rusty and unfamiliar, but it felt so good to do it again. It had been such a long time since he’d felt like laughing.

He turned back to everyone else, only to find Nick watching him with a bright gaze. “Okay, let’s get this briefing on the road, shall we?” Nick said.

“Please,” Natasha said with a nod.

Phil closed his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile on his face that was echoed in the sudden burst of  _ hope _ deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Just give me a second.”

“Phil,” Nick said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

<*>

Phil headed into the briefing five minutes later, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He took a seat in the empty chair beside Natasha and nodded to Nick, trying to pretend everyone wasn’t staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at Nick.

“Right,” Nick said. “To get right to the point, I’ve got news, but none of you are going to like it.”

Phil tensed immediately, his knuckles white on his mug. Before he could start demanding answers, Natasha reached over to put her hand on Phil’s arm. “It’s not about Clint,” she said in a low voice.

Sagging back in his chair, because at least it wasn’t horrible news about his missing asset, Phil let out a long breath. He was grateful for Natasha’s quiet support, but he hated how obvious he was being about needing it. Phil just couldn’t stop worrying about Clint, the thread of guilt at how his own actions had hurt Clint still eating away at him.

“So what’s the bad news?” Melinda asked.

Nick sighed. “Well, to start with, Hydra is still three steps ahead of us,” he said. “We managed to trace Pierce to Greece before we lost him again. He was accompanied by Garrett and Ward, apparently as his security team, but we have no idea if that was true or just a cover.”

Phil could read the anger and tension in the hunch of Nick’s shoulders and the clench of his jaw. Pierce’s betrayal had cut deep, and the wound would take a long time to heal.

“You know, judging by the chatter we’ve picked up, it makes sense for Pierce to be heading our way,” Trip said.

“Oh?” Nick said, turning towards the other man.

Trip nodded, not intimidated by the way Nick’s gaze was fixed on him. “Yeah,” he said. “Skye and I haven’t found anything concrete, but we think all the head of the Hydra cells are gearing up for a meeting. And, so as far as we can tell, most of them are in Europe right now.”

“It makes sense,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “Their assets are in place and they think they have the Avengers neutralized and SHIELD beaten.”

Nick huffed. “Great,” he muttered. “So Hydra is moving on to step two of their world domination plans.” He shot Phil a sharp look. “Are we any closer to figuring out who these heads are?”

Phil glanced at Skye, who nodded back, her fingers tapping out something on the screen of her ever-present Starktab. On the far wall, the screen flickered away from several information feeds to the map of Hydra that Skye and Trip had created. “According to the latest intel Agents Morse and Simmons have managed to pass us, the R&D section of Hydra appears to be run by a man named Dr. Daniel Whitehall,” Phil said. “So far, we’ve barely been able to find out anything about him. It’s as if he suddenly appears in 1989. We don’t even have a photo.”

Hesitating, Phil looked Nick straight in the eye. “There’s something else, Nick,” he said. “When we were investigating Whitehall, we found references to ‘inhumans’. Nothing definite, but…”

Nick closed his eye and cursed. Phil had done the same when he’d found out. He and Nick had been tracking references to so-called Inhumans for years, but they’d never found much beyond rumour, myth and allusions.

“Wait,” Skye interrupted. “What exactly are ‘inhumans’?”

“The short answer is that we don’t entirely know,” Phil told her. “Some people call them mutants, and their origins are tangled up in a lot of fantastical stories, but they’re supposed to be individuals with extraordinary powers.”

Skye raised both eyebrows. “So, kind of like superheroes?”

Phil shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But they don’t all necessarily choose to save people.”

“SHIELD has come across people like that before,” Nick said, with a worried glance towards Melinda. Phil was worried too, memories of Bahrain sharp in his mind, and he hadn’t seen and faced what Melinda had.

“Whether or not those individuals are the same thing as Inhumans, we don’t know,” Nick continued. “And right now, we don’t have the resources to deal with it anyway.”

“I don’t really see Hydra joining forces with Inhumans anyway,” Natasha said. “Hydra is too obsessed with its screwed up ideas of purity.”

Phil nodded, his stomach lurching at the words Natasha had left unsaid. Hydra might not join forces with Inhumans, but they  _ would _ exploit them. Or experiment on them, and that wasn’t something Phil wanted to think about for very long.

“Then we really need to shut Whitehall down,” Melinda said firmly.

Nick nodded. “Do we know anything else about what Whitehall is doing now?”

“Not much,” Trip replied. “He runs a series of labs, mostly across parts of North America, but he has a few in Europe and Asia, too. Even so, he seems to leave most of the managing to the heads of each individual lab and to his second in command, Sunhil Bakshi.”

Trip paused, and Skye tapped her Starktab. A series of photos appeared on the wall screen, most of them grainy. Bakshi was a well dressed man in his mid to late 30s who favoured tailored suits and sneering at everyone.

“Agent Morse has infiltrated the security teams led by Bakshi and has become one of his trusted operatives, which gives her access to Bakshi’s movements,” Trip said. “But even Bakshi refuses to say much about Whitehall. Possibly because not even he knows.”

“Bakshi himself has been easier to track,” Skye said, taking over the briefing. “He was born in London, possibly somewhere in Southall. He joined the military as soon as he was old enough, but he didn’t have a long career before he was discharged. Since then, he’s become a private security contractor and on paper, he heads the security division of the company running Whitehall’s labs.”

Skye tapped her Starktab again and another grainy photo appeared. This one was of a man in his fifties getting out of a limousine. “Bakshi has also been making regular phone calls to this man once a month, although so far, all we know of him is his codename: Lighthouse. I’ve got this photo running through facial recognition software now, though. If his face has been caught on any traffic cams or security footage anywhere in the world, we’ll find him.” Skye frowned, because she’d already told Phil how likely it was they’d get a match some time this century. “Also, apparently Bakshi’s codename is Warship, which you know… compensating much?”

“That’s impressive work,” Nick said.

“Thank you, sir,” Trip replied. “We’re still working on compiling a file on Lighthouse, but with a little luck, we might find the next link in the chain.”

Nick nodded. “Contact Agent Hill if you need to,” he said. “She has access to Tony Stark and his resources, and as irritating as Stark can be, there’s very little that man can’t find out. We need to figure out who the leaders of Hydra are, preferably before Pierce manages to meet with them all.”

“If that’s what he’s in Europe to do,” Melinda said.

Nick let out another sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “If that’s why Pierce is here.”

“We’ll find them,” Phil said, perhaps a little more firmly than he believed, but failure wasn’t an option.

“Just be careful how you do,” Nick warned. “We have a new player to worry about. Since SHIELD was declared a terrorist organization, the US government has set up a taskforce to round up the remains of SHIELD on US soil. The man in charge is Colonel Glenn Talbot, USAF. He’s a decorated officer and seems on the level, just a stickler for rules and protocol.”

Phil huffed. “Shit,” he said.

“So far Talbot only has powers to operate in North America, but the World Security Council is under threat by this, too, so you can rest assured that things will get worse sooner rather than later,” Nick said. “Also, Talbot has links to former General Ross, who rumour has it, is soon to be Secretary of Defense Ross, so watch your back on this one, Phil.”

“Right now most of Talbot’s attention is on securing SHIELD’s US bases, including retaking the Hub from Agent Hand,” Nick said.

“Victoria is not taking that well,” Natasha added dryly.

Melinda snorted. “I’ll bet,” she said.

“He’s not taking it by force, though, right?” Trip said.

Nick shook his head. “No, not yet,” he said. “Hand has a hand-picked security team on alert, however, and they’ll help get everyone out if it comes to that.”

“Losing the Hub won’t help us,” Melinda said. “If we’re going to hunt Hydra, we need an operations center.”

“Even if it has a compromised communications network?” Skye said. “Like, tell me if I’m wrong, but half the problem is that we can’t use SHIELD resources, because Hydra can intercept them. So why not let this Talbot guy have your base if it gets him off our backs for a while?”

Nick smiled. “Agent Hand agrees with you,” he said. “She’s preparing to hand the Hub over as soon as she’s stripped out as much gear and intelligence as she can.”

Skye let out a low whistle. “Sneaky,” she said approvingly.

“We try,” Nick replied dryly.

“What about our other agents?” Melinda asked. “Did Mack find Agent Hartley?”

Nick nodded, his face falling into grim lines. “He did,” he said. “Mack has temporarily joined Hartley’s little mercenary band to track down some information. Rumour has it that a few SHIELD agents are selling secrets to the highest bidder.” Nick sighed, exhaustion flashing across his face. “As for anyone else… if we haven’t found them by now, they’re either dead, Hydra, or have gone to ground until things blow over.”

“All the more reason to take out Hydra,” Melinda said.

“Yes,” Nick agreed, meeting her gaze. “It is, but that’s not the only reason I came.” He glanced at Phil. “I have something for you.”

Reaching into his pocket, Nick pulled out a small black cube. Phil frowned at it, because he had no idea what it was. Except, maybe… There had always been rumours, but what if they were true? Phil’s stomach swooped. “Is that…?”

“If you’re asking if this is a super secret digital storage device full of information only accessible by the Director of SHIELD ,” Nick said. “Then yes .”

“Whoa,” Skye breathed.

“It’s called the Toolbox,” Nick said. He glanced back at Phil, something in his gaze that Phil couldn’t translate. “I thought you could use it.”

Phil nodded mutely, a little shocked that Nick was just handing it over. If Phil was reading between the lines correctly, there was a reason this Toolbox was for the Director’s use only, and Nick was offering it to  _ him _ . Stepping forward, Phil took the Toolbox, surprised at the weight of it. “Thank you,” he said, glancing up at Nick.

Nick sent him a half-smile. “I’d say use it well, but I know you will,” he said.

Phil nodded again. From what little he could guess, the Toolbox would give them access to databases and information that would make tracking Hydra a whole lot easier. It would make tracking  _ anyone _ a whole lot easier, even archers that were very good at disappearing. Phil swallowed. Fuck, he didn’t deserve Nick as a friend.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

<*>

Three hours later, Phil was still staring at the Toolbox. He couldn’t access it yet, but Koenig assured him that it wouldn’t take long to get what they needed for the power supply. Despite the circumstances, Phil wasn’t in any rush. As long as he couldn’t access the Toolbox, he didn’t have to make the decision on whether to track Clint down, or to leave him be.

Or maybe Phil should just keep focusing on Hydra, like he’d decided all those weeks ago. Clint could take care of himself, and chances were Clint wouldn’t want to see Phil anyway.

A soft knock at the door to Phil’s ‘office’ had Phil glancing up. “Natasha,” he said when he saw his former asset hovering in the doorway.

Tentatively, Natasha stepped inside, and Phil’s heart lurched in his chest, because Natasha was never hesitant. “Is something wrong?” Phil asked her.

Natasha shook her head. “No,” she replied. “Well, nothing more than you already know.” She offered him a small smile. “I just wanted to see how you were.”

“Truthfully?” Phil said, letting out a breath as he leaned back in his chair. “I have absolutely no idea. The events with Loki, dying, Hydra… it’s all been a lot to take in.” He glanced down at his hands and closed his eyes. Being honest, even with himself, was not something Phil had been lately, and it was about time he tried. He owed it to himself, and he also owed it to his friends, Natasha included. “There’s also an apology I need to make,” he added, glancing back up at Natasha.

Natasha’s eyes widened. “An apology? For what, dying?” she said.

“It wasn’t exactly my finest moment,” Phil said quietly.

“No,” Natasha said. “Going up against Loki alone was stupid.” She walked over to Phil’s desk and sat down on the corner. Phil was reminded of the times she’d done that at SHIELD, every time she thought he’d done something reckless. “But the rest of it wasn’t your fault. That was all Loki.”

“I’m still sorry I wasn’t there when the WSC came for you,” Phil said. “And afterwards, when you needed a friend.”

Reaching out, Natasha rested a hand over Phil’s clenched fist. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you woke up,” she said.

Phil attempted to smile, pushing down the grief and guilt welling up in his chest. “You’re here now,” he said.

“I am,” Natasha agreed, but she glanced away, the air between them suddenly thick and heavy with the missing presence of who  _ wasn’t _ there.

Clint.

“Tasha…” Phil began.

“I tracked him to Europe,” Natasha said, but then her words faltered. She glanced up at Phil, and Phil nodded even as his stomach sank at the news.

“He asked me to let him go, Phil. So I did,” Natasha added softly. “But…”

“You did the right thing,” Phil reassured her, turning his hand under hers to tangle their fingers together. “You know no one can keep Clint where he doesn’t want to be.”

“He should be  _ here _ ,” Natasha said, her voice quiet but fierce.

Phil closed his eyes. Clint was running because of  _ him _ . The undeniable truth of it sank through him, but really, that knowledge wasn’t new. It had always been sitting in the back of his mind, adding layers of guilt to Phil’s actions and lurking in his throat every time he called Clint’s old burner phone and left a message.

“We need to find him, Phil,” Natasha said.

“I know,” Phil whispered. “But we can’t force him to come back if he doesn’t want to, Tasha. If he’s made his choice, we have to respect it.”

Natasha leaned back, her eyes narrowing. “That’s  _ bullshit _ ,” she growled.

“Tasha…” Phil said.

“No.” Natasha’s tone cut off all Phil’s arguments. Leaning forwards, she reached out to gently cup Phil’s chin. “We are going to find him, Phil. And we are going to bring him back to where he belongs. With us.” She studied Phil’s face, nodding once when she found whatever she was looking for. “He deserves that.  _ You _ deserve that.”

Swallowing, his throat suddenly thick, all Phil could do was nod back. Skye had told him almost exactly the same thing a few hours ago.

“Good,” Natasha said, leaning back again.

Phil glanced back down at his hands, swallowing heavily again as the words he wanted to say clogged in his throat. The questions were difficult to ask, but he  _ needed _ the answers. “Have you spoken to him much?” he said quietly. “Has he been checking in?”

Natasha didn’t reply and when Phil looked up again, her eyes were closed and her face was pained. “Natasha?” Phil asked.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said, her eyes bright when she opened them again. “That’s my fault, too.”

Taking a deep breath, Phil let it out slowly. Oh. Natasha hadn’t just come to talk to him, she felt  _ guilty _ for letting Clint go off on his own without her there to watch his back. “No,” he said, and this time it was him reaching out to cover her hand with his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Natasha snorted. “Who’s fault is it then?” she said.

“No one’s?” Phil said. “Or Hydra’s. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Natasha said firmly. She offered him a wan smile. “Clint checked in. It was only text messages in the beginning, from random burner phones. Mostly some combination of slang and emojis. But…” She swallowed. “He tried calling. A few weeks back, when we found out about Hydra. Left a few frantic messages, but I was busy with Rogers. I didn’t…”

Phil squeezed her hand, hoping the touch would give her comfort. “Yeah,” he said.

Natasha blew out a breath. “He’s gone silent since then,” she said. “So I started tracking him. He’s still alive, but that’s all I know.”

“Clint is a lot tougher and smarter than he pretends to be,” Phil said. “And he’s very good at surviving.”

Natasha huffed out a breath, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I know,” she said. “You don’t need to… I just…” She trailed off, waving her hand.

“I know,” Phil replied, because he did. Natasha wanted those she cared about close and safe. Phil could understand that.

“So,” Natasha said. “We’re taking on Hydra soon, huh?”

Frowning, Phil didn’t argue the change in subject. “You’re coming with us?”

Nick had passed on a lead about a Hydra base near Pila in Poland. It didn’t appear to be a large base, but it had access to the Hydra computer network and both Phil and Nick were hoping they could get some intel on Hydra’s operation. Phil would be taking Melinda and Trip as backup, but he hadn’t been aware Natasha was sticking around, or that she was coming with them to Poland.

Natasha nodded. “I figured I might stick around for a while,” she said. “Nick has me tracking one of the new players you told him about. Ronin?”

Phil nodded. “And you want to see what Hydra knows,” he said. He blinked. “Do you think Hydra figured out who Ronin is?”

Shrugging, Natasha made her ‘eh, maybe’ face. “No matter the legends, Ronin didn’t just appear from nowhere. Everyone has a story. A place they come from. Who’s to say we don’t already know Ronin by another name?”

Phil smiled faintly. He’d missed Natasha and her unfailing logic. “For the record,” he said. “I’m glad that you’re coming with us.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d worry about anyone watching your back with Melinda around,” she said.

“It’s not that,” Phil told her. “It’s just…” With all the superheroes and crazy things that happened after Tony Stark declared himself Iron Man, he’d missed missions with Natasha. For all the blood-pressure raising stunts Natasha and Clint used to pull, Phil missed being the handler of Strike Team Delta. It would be good to go on a mission with Natasha again.

“Yeah,” Natasha said, squeezing Phil’s hand. “Me too.”

<*>

_ Hydra Base, 50 miles north-west of Pila, Poland _

Phil shivered in the cool night air. It wasn’t exactly freezing, but Phil hadn’t moved for about three hours, and he was getting cold, even inside the run-down old concrete bunker Hydra was using as their base. He also had a cramp in his right leg, but Phil was ignoring that. Instead, he shifted his position slightly to ease his calf muscles, and kept his eyes on the guards patrolling below his hiding spot on the second floor of the warehouse.

“You know, there’s a lot more waiting around that I figured they’d be on spy missions,” Skye drawled in Phil’s ear via the comm.

Smiling slightly, Phil couldn’t reply without giving away his position, but neither Natasha or Trip had the same problem. Skye herself was safely back at their new command center, monitoring their progress through camera feeds and whatever satellite time she could hack. Phil was deliberately not asking about it.

Packing up and shifting their command center to Poland had been surprisingly easy. Koenig had been true to his word and in a matter of days, they’d shifted everything to an old school building in Pila. They wouldn’t be staying long -- Koenig was already looking for a more secure place to set up -- but it was more than Phil had thought they’d have.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha said. “Someone will shoot at us soon and then it will get less boring.”

“I’m kind of worried how excited you sound about that,” Skye said. “I’m not going to lie.”

The guards patrolling the warehouse floor below Phil finally disappeared out of sight. If they stuck to their previous pattern, Phil had four minutes before they came back. “Trip, you’re cleared to shift position,” he whispered.

“Copy that,” Trip replied.

Taking a deep breath, Phil eased himself to his feet and headed for the stairs. Gaining entrance to the bunker had been easy enough -- as predicted, the base wasn’t staffed by many agents and it had been relatively easy to sneak past them. Things had got a little more complicated on the inside, however. Skye had noted a large power drain similar, but on a larger scale, to the one she’d found in Havana. Whatever this base was being used for, it was larger than just intel, and Phil was determined to figure out what.

“Widow, how close are you to copying the database?” Phil asked quietly as he hit the ground floor, gun out in front of him in case he’d misjudged the guard rotations.

“Files are at seventy-three percent,” Natasha replied. “And before you ask, yes, the guards are still out cold.”

Phil fought down a huff. Natasha had split off early to track down the security center of the base so she could copy any intelligence in the base’s system. In true Black Widow style, it had taken her all of ten minutes to break in and incapacitate the guards. Melinda was with her, monitoring the base’s internal security feeds, just in case Phil or Trip got themselves in trouble.

“Okay, heading for the door,” Phil said.

Towards the east side of the bunker, Phil had spotted a reinforced metal door and he was betting that whatever was draining the power was behind it. When Phil crept up, Trip was already there, attempting to hack through the electronic lock. He nodded to Phil. “Almost through,” he said.

Phil nodded back.

“Wait, I think I see movement,” Skye said, and Phil tensed.

“I see it, too,” Melinda said. “Two black SUVs just pulled up to the south entrance.”

“No, not that,” Skye said. “I mean, yeah. You’ve got incoming Hydra assholes. But… I thought I saw something on the west side of the base for a second.”

Phil let out a breath. “Keep your eyes open,” he said. “The last thing we need is…”

“Coulson, Rumlow just got out of the lead SUV,” Melinda interrupted. “You need to get out of there  _ now _ .”

Phil cursed under his breath because they were  _ so close _ . The lock on the door beeped open as if to taunt him, but Melinda was right. If Rumlow was on site, they didn’t have time. “Copy that,” he said. “Widow, as soon as you have the intel, start heading for the exit. Trip and I will abort and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“Affirmative,” Natasha said. “ETA ninety seconds.”

Hopefully, the intel they could pull from Natasha’s copied files would be enough. Phil glanced over at Trip and jerked his head. The guards would be coming back around in less than a minute, but it might be enough to get back to the stairs if they ran. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Wait, so we’re not evening going to peek inside the door?” Skye said. “Is this Rumlow guy that scary?”

The question echoed in Phil’s ears as he sprinted as quietly as he could across the open floor of the bunker, heading for the stairs that would take him and Trip back up to the second level. In this part of the bunker, it was little more than a catwalk, but as long as the guards didn’t look up and nobody made a noise, they should be safe.

“Rumlow used to be S.T.R.I.K.E,” Melinda said quietly. “Even by SHIELD standards, he was one of the best. He’s not someone you want to go up against without a plan.”

“Not unless you’re Captain America, anyway,” Natasha said dryly.

Phil ignored the way his heart lurched at the mention of his childhood hero. At least it was consistent -- going up against a wannabe god, dying, coming back to life and then discovering Hydra hadn’t dulled Phil’s reaction to hearing Captain Rogers’ name. It was as comforting as it was ridiculous.

“If Captain America has already gone up against these guys, maybe the good Captain needs to punch harder next time, ‘cause they’re still running around,” Skye said.

“I’ll let him know,” Natasha replied.

Now safely up on the second floor, Phil dropped down into one of the more shadowed corners, pulling Trip with him, just as the Hydra guard patrol turned the corner again. The two men were dressed in green fatigues with the sickeningly familiar green Hydra patch on the arm, but thankfully neither were particularly alert. Phil could only hope that meant they wouldn’t notice the way the reinforced door was still flashing green.

It turned out that Phil didn’t need to worry. Just as the guards were parallel to the door, a black blur dropped silently from the ceiling. There was a flash of a knife and a muffled grunt and then both guards were sagging to the ground.

His heart pounding in his chest, Phil was on his feet and at the rail of the catwalk before he even registered moving. He locked eyes with the black-clad figure below, barely even daring to breathe as the sudden voices in his ear faded away. Two sword hilts poked above the man’s shoulders, a mask covering the lower half of his face and a hood obscured his hair and shadowed his eyes.

_ Ronin _ .

And yet-

Phil couldn’t see the man’s face, but he didn’t need to. He’d spent years watching those shoulders, that easy, fluid grace. Suddenly, Phil couldn’t draw in enough breath, his throat was too tight with all the words that were climbing up his throat and spreading bitter across his tongue. It wasn’t possible, but everything inside Phil  _ screamed _ with the solid, inconvertible knowledge.

He might not be wielding a bow anymore, but there was only one man it could be.

_ Clint _ .

<*>


	20. Clint

_ 50 miles north-west of Pila, Poland _

Gasping for breath, Clint sagged back against the wall and clawed at the cloth covering his face. His lungs were burning and he just couldn’t suck in any  _ air _ . Why wasn’t there any air?

“Barton? Barton!” Jasper’s voice crackled over the comm, but Clint barely heard it.

His mind was hazy, stuck in a loop and he still couldn’t breathe in enough air. Even his legs were shaking. Clint’s instincts were screaming at him to listen to Jasper, that he wasn’t safe, but Clint was frozen. He’d fled when he’d seen the other intruders, twisting randomly down corridors, his only thought to get  _ away _ . Away from the achingly familiar blue gaze he’d locked eyes with, the gaze that still had the power to freeze the world like the air in his lungs.

Phil.

_ Fuck _ .

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t  _ be _ possible. There was no way Phil was in Poland, wearing a tac vest and gun, breaking into the same Hydra base Clint was. Was there?

“ _ Barton _ !” Jasper snapped. “Rumlow is there and heading straight for you. You need to  _ move _ . Now!”

Clint scrambled to his feet, heart thumping.  _ Fuck _ . “Heading to the ventilation shaft now,” he said, taking off at a sprint.

Jasper blew out a breath. “Thank fuck,” he muttered.

Clint skidded around another corner just as an alarm started blaring, and it was kind of a miracle that he hadn’t run into any Hydra thugs. Or maybe it wasn’t a miracle. Maybe Phil was still watching his back, even when Clint hadn’t been there, even when he’d-

Clint ruthlessly cut off his thoughts and began to climb.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Jasper said. “The whole base is going nuts.”

Clint swallowed heavily. “Phil,” he rasped. “It was Phil. He’s here.”

Jasper cursed loudly in a mixture of Spanish, English and Mandarin.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed.

Jasper fell silent, leaving Clint alone with his harsh breathing echoing around him as he climbed up the ventilation shaft leading the west side of the bunker’s compound. He couldn’t calm the way his heart was pounding sickeningly in his chest, thrumming under his skin and reverberating all the way down to his bones. It was almost as if his body had jerked into life the second he’d locked eyes with Phil, waking from whatever haze he’d been living in and unlocking all the emotions he’d hidden away.

Reaching the top of the shaft, Clint braced his shoulder against the aging metal hatch and shoved. It opened with a muffled screech, but with the alarms still blaring, the sound didn’t matter. “I’m out,” he said, hauling himself up the last rungs of the metal ladder and rolling out into the forest beyond.

His left hand hovered near the gun holstered on his thigh, but the shadows among the trees were empty. Clint frowned. “There’s no one here,” he muttered. “What happened to the guards?”

Admittedly, he’d killed a few Hydra agents on the way in, but with the alarms screaming, surely someone had sent Hydra thugs to guard the perimeter?

Clint got his answer to that five seconds later, when the east side of the bunker  _ exploded _ . Instinctively, Clint ducked and threw an arm out to guard his face as the ground shook beneath his feet, but he was too far away to be in much danger.

“What the hell was that?” Jasper immediately demanded.

“My guess would be Phil and whoever he brought with him,” Clint said quietly.

“Shit,” Jasper said. “Shouldn’t we… I mean, can we just…”

Clint closed his eyes, his chest aching like someone had reached cold fingers deep inside his chest and was squeezing his heart. He didn’t need Jasper to finish his sentence.

_ Can we just leave Phil in there to face Rumlow? _

Clint had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of in his life, and he would always regret not being there to stop Phil from going up against Loki alone. As much as Clint was barely holding his shit together, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away now. Not with Rumlow and S.T.R.I.K.E at the base, no matter who Phil had backing him up.

“No,” Clint said, giving in. “We can’t just leave him here.”

There were so many things Clint wanted to say, so many curses and pleas clawing at the inside of his throat, but he shoved them all down and turned back, heading towards the explosion and where Phil would be.

Gunfire cut off his path before he got halfway, the sound sharp in the still night air. Clint ducked behind a tree, hunkering down into a crouch. Peering around the trunk, Clint carefully took stock of what was going on. Five guards had Phil and another man pinned down behind one of the shiny SUVs Clint had followed in. Clint wasn’t sure if Phil had been making a break for one of the cars, or had another escape route, but unless someone dealt with the guards, Phil and his companion weren’t going anywhere.

For a brief second, Clint itched for his bow. If he’d had it, he could have taken out most of the guards before they’d noticed he was there, but Ronin didn’t carry a bow. Not that it mattered now. Clint drew his gun from the holster on his thigh and immediately shot the man trying to flank Phil’s position. Clint didn’t acknowledge the widening eyes Phil threw in his direction, instead turning to take aim at another guard.

Clint managed to take out two of the five guards before they pinpointed his hiding place, and as Clint ducked out of the way of the hail of bullets the final three shot at him, the gunshots echoing loudly in the night air. Risking another glance around the tree, Clint felt the air catch in his lungs. Phil stood in the clearing just in front of the SUVs, gun still held in front of him and his blue eyes locked with Clint’s. The three remaining guards lay dead nearby.

_ Fuck _ .

His hand shaking, Clint lowered his gun. He was frozen, unable to even blink, as he stared at the man that had always meant so much to him: friend, confidant, protector. The man Clint loved.

“Clint,” Phil called out, his voice hoarse and full of something Clint couldn’t name. Didn't dare name.

There was a tremor to his name that Clint had never heard before, like Phil’s voice had almost broken in the middle of it, but that just  _ wasn’t possible _ . Phil didn’t shake because he was finally seeing Clint again. That wasn’t how the universe worked. Oh, God, how had Clint thought he was ready to deal with this? He  _ wasn’t  _ ready to deal with this. He couldn’t… he…

Clint swallowed heavily. He’d lost the anonymity of Ronin’s mask, and he had no idea what his face was showing, but he didn’t care. He was too busy drinking in the sight of Phil, his legs shaking so hard he had to lock his knees to stop from crumbling to the ground. Phil’s skin was pale, dark shadows blooming under his eyes like bruises, and he was thinner than he used to be, worn down and hard. That hardness matched the way he wore his black clothes and tac vest and the stubble covering his jaw. The remnants were there, but the sleek cover of Agent Coulson was gone, revealing the old, tired soldier underneath.

“ _ Phil _ ,” he breathed, the name shattering the stillness between them.

Phil’s gloved hands curled into fists where they were hanging by his thighs, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. Clint’s stomach clenched, because Phil was holding back words and suddenly Clint didn’t want to hear them. Phil was angry, and he had every right to be, but Clint couldn’t face it. He couldn’t stand there while Phil told him how disappointed Phil was, how Clint should have been there, how it was Clint’s fault. He just  _ couldn’t _ . “Phil, I… I  _ can’t _ ,” he whispered harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. “ _ I’m sorry _ .”

Then he turned and did what he was so good at: he ran.

“Clint!” Phil called out behind him, but Clint didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure how he made it out, most of his escape passing in a daze. Clint just acted, shooting guards by instinct and listening to the directions Jasper muttered in his ear. Losing time, particularly when bullets were flying, was more than dangerous, but Clint was still in one piece by the time he threw himself into the passenger seat of Jasper’s stolen car. He ignored Jasper’s worried glances as Jasper sped off in a spray of gravel, sinking back against the seat instead and trying not to shake apart.

_ Fuck _ .

<*>

_ 30 miles from Swinoujscie, the Baltic Sea _

Now that Clint had put the coast of Poland behind him, the bands squeezing Clint’s chest had eased a little. It was probably stupid, but Clint didn’t have the strength to face Phil, not yet. Maybe he never would. So instead, he’d fled like a coward. He and Jasper had managed to catch the morning ferry from Swinoujscie to Trelleborg, Sweden. Fleeing north wouldn’t be hard to track, but Clint was trying anyway. He needed space, just for a while.

Jasper hadn’t stopped him, but he’d clearly noticed something was wrong, and Clint wasn’t counting on Jasper staying silent about it forever. Thankfully, Jasper wasn’t pushing yet, and he’d left Clint to a tiny cabin all by himself. Of course, all that meant was that the four walls were closing in on him, slowly suffocating him in his swirling thoughts. The ground had been eroding underneath his boots ever since Bobbi had told him that Phil was still alive, but ever since he’d locked eyes with Phil, the ground had turned to quicksand and Clint was drowning in it.

“Fuck,” Clint whispered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He was curled up on the cramped bed, his knees pressed to his chest and his back firmly against the wall. Beside him, his burner phone lay on top of the sheets, but so far Clint had resisted. If he couldn’t face Phil in person, what made Clint think he could listen to Phil’s messages?

Phil had been the gravity of Clint’s orbit for so long that Clint was still adrift without him. Clint swallowed heavily. Picking up the phone, Clint dialled the number for the message service with fingers he refused to admit were shaking. He carefully scrolled through the options until he got to Phil’s first message, the same one he hadn’t been able to listen to in Romania. The message wouldn’t be any easier to hear now, but every time Clint closed his eyes he could see Phil’s thin, determined face, so really, what was one more thing haunting him?

“ _ Clint. _ ” Phil’s voice was still as rough and raw and Clint remembered, and it still sent pain lancing through his chest, spreading out like icy tentacles. Clint’s grip on the phone made the plastic creak, but he forced himself to keep listening. “ _ I’m not even sure why I’m calling. I don’t know where you are, I can’t… _ ”

Oh fuck, why had Clint thought he could do this?

Phil sounded  _ wrecked _ . Like he was as lost as Clint, all turned around with no idea which way was up, and tears started prickling Clint’s eyes before he could stop them. His heart pounded sickeningly once against his ribs as, in the recording, Phil’s voice hitched. “ _ This is harder than I thought it would be. _ ”

“Phil,” Clint whispered brokenly.

“ _ It’s been one hundred and three days since the attack on the Helicarrier _ ,” Phil continued, and in between the words, there was a glimpse of Agent Coulson’s calm as he briefed his agents. Clint couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. “ _ And… I’m alive, Clint. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you this, not that I really imagined it until after I woke up. It’s a… long story _ .” Phil paused. “ _ That’s not why I called. Honestly, I’m not sure I know why. You’re not exactly going to listen to this _ .”

Phil’s breathing was shaky, and he was clearly in a public place, but it was both not enough and too much all at once. Phil was spilling his confession, not even sure that Clint was ever going to listen to it. Swallowing heavily, Clint angrily reached up to brush away the tear sliding down his cheek.

“ _ Even if you never hear this, there is one thing I want to say. I’m coming for you, Clint. You and Natasha. I don’t know how long it will take me, but both Nick and I are looking for you. I promise _ .” Phil sounded so achingly determined, because Phil  _ never _ gave up when it counted. Not when he’d made a promise. And all Clint had done was run away.

“ _ I’m not giving up.  _ _ I just wanted you to know that _ .”

Clint sucked in a deep breath and stared blankly at the walls, but it did little to soothe the sudden raging storm of emotions battering against his ribs. Hurt and grief and bright, brilliant  _ love _ twisted and snarled in his stomach, and the dark part of his mind urged him towards violence. To rip apart the world for what it had done to Phil, and to him.

As the message service moved onto the next message, Clint clenched his jaw. He couldn’t listen anymore, he couldn’t. Not yet. Ending the call, Clint tossed the phone down on the bed and stared, unseeing, at the sheets. Even when Phil had thought Clint was locked up, even after  _ dying _ , Phil was still trying to save him. Pain stabbed through Clint’s chest and he sucked in shuddering gasps, but there wasn’t enough  _ air _ .

“ _ Phil _ ,” he rasped.

Phil, of course, didn’t hear him, because Clint had run away. Hugging his legs to his chest, Clint buried his face in his knees and let the sobs come.

<*>

_ Copenhagen, Denmark _

“So this is where you’re hiding, huh?” Jasper said, sliding onto the barstool next to Clint.

Clint lifted his eyes from his glass of Brennivin, the Danish version of vodka, and glared. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for company. “Was there something you wanted?” he growled.

After Trelleborg, Clint had headed west to Denmark and lost himself in Copenhagen. Jasper had followed, because Jasper was a good friend, but whatever grace period Clint had for dealing with things on his own had obviously just ended.

“Clint,” Jasper said in a low voice. The bar Clint had found wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty, either, and there were plenty of people around who’d understand English. At least with a hat pulled down low on his head and his scruffy beard, Jasper looked more like a tourist than Clint did.

“Either tell me what you want, or go away,” Clint interrupted.

“I want you to talk to me,” Jasper said plainly. “Not drown your sorrows in booze.”

Clint snorted. “I’m not. Also: fuck you.”

Jasper sighed and waved down the bartender for his own drink. He ordered in perfect Danish, and Clint refused to be impressed. After Jasper had taken a sip of his beer, Clint raised his glass in a toast. “Congratulations,” he said, putting his glass back down on the bar. “You’ve now drunk more than I have.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Jasper studied him. “Okay, so why did you come all the way to this lovely bar if your only intent was to stare at a glass?” he asked.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “You know exactly why,” he said.

“No, actually,” Jasper said, taking another drink of beer. “I don’t.”

Clint shot him another glare, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to say it out loud. He’d come to the bar for the sole purpose of trying  _ not _ to think about it, although he hadn’t really managed that, either. Phil was the spectre that just would not leave him alone. Phil’s raw voice from the only message Clint had listened to so far was haunting him just as much, and Clint was desperate to drown it out, if only for a little while.

“You could go back,” Jasper said softly. “Find him.”

Clint surged to his feet, because he wasn’t going to listen to this. Jasper reached out a hand to stop him, and Clint barely stopped himself from violently shrugging it off. “Just… leave it, Jas,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Jasper said, dropping his hand. “Okay.”

Nodding once, Clint shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets and headed out of the bar. Jasper let him, which was probably more than Clint deserved. Hunching his shoulders, Clint disappeared out into the night. His hair was getting longer now and he should do something to change his appearance -- he was being tracked by enough people. Maybe he should dye it lighter.

Yanking up the collar of his coat, because the night air was colder this far north, Clint dragged out his battered pack of cigarettes. He lit one before starting off down the street, dodging the evening crowds as he wandered in the vague direction of the hotel he and Jasper had holed up in.

A few blocks later, he’d just ducked into a narrower alley when he felt the press of a combat knife against his ribs. The blade didn’t dig through his clothes, but it was firm enough that Clint could feel it. One wrong move, and he’d be dead. His stomach clenched and his blood froze, and all Clint could think was that hopefully this wasn’t Hydra catching up with him.

“You, you’re Hawkeye, yes?” a rough voice, edged with a Russian accent, growled in his ear.

“Depends who’s asking,” Clint quipped, trying to sound calm, because  _ fuck _ . He’d left everything that had marked him as Hawkeye behind when he’d left the US. Who the fuck had found him?

“Please,” the voice said, and this time it sounded almost like it came from Brooklyn. “I need your help.”

What the hell?

“You usually go around asking for help at knife-point?” Clint asked.

The man behind Clint snorted, and the pressure of the knife disappeared. Clint wasn’t stupid enough to think he wasn’t in danger anymore, but that hadn’t ever stopped him. He turned around slowly and blinked. The man was almost six foot tall and was dressed roughly enough to be a criminal, in worn jeans, boots and layered shirts and a hoodie underneath a khaki jacket. A cap was pulled down low, hiding his face, but Clint had stared at him across a rooftop for long enough not to be fooled.

Calmly, Clint took a drag on his cigarette. “You know, you’re not who I expected,” he said.

The Winter Soldier stared back at Clint. “Sorry to disappoint, pal,” he said bitterly, his gaze hardening.

“I’m not disappointed,” Clint said mildly. “I wasn’t actually looking forward to killing any Hydra bastards tonight.”

The Soldier’s sharp gaze eased, as did the tension in his shoulders, but he didn’t say anything. “So,” Clint said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “What should I call you?”

Letting out a harsh chuckle, the Soldier shrugged. “Whatever you like, pal,” he said.

Beneath the pain and the grief still choking Clint, he felt a stab of empathy. The man standing in front of him was exhausted and worn right down to the bone, but more than that, he was  _ lost _ . Clint might not be able to understand what he’d been through, but he could understand the feeling of not being able to fit into the world anymore. An echo of the burning anger he’d felt in Ostrava blistered through his veins, because Hydra was fucked up, and what they’d done to Barnes was fucked up. He shivered, because he couldn’t help but be reminded of what Loki had done to him.

“Well, how about I start with James and we work our way up to the rest of it?” he suggested, because the Winter Soldier might have once been called James Buchanan Barnes, but that didn’t mean that’s who he was now. It had been almost one hundred years since James Barnes had been lost in WW2, and one hundred years was a long time, particularly in Hydra’s hands.

James glanced at him, his hands curling into fists before he relaxed them. “Yeah,” he said with a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Come on,” Clint said, dropping the butt of his cigarette and grinding it under his boot. “I have a hotel room nearby.”

“You say that to all the boys?” James said with an attempt at a smirk, but it wasn’t as forced as it could have been.

Clint smiled despite himself. “Don’t worry,” he replied. “You’re not my type.”

James nodded. “It’s the boobs, right?”

Clint let out a bark of bitter laughter, because really, it was the lack of suits and calm competence and everything that meant  _ Phil _ . He blinked back sudden tears. “No, uh, it’s not that,” he said. “Come on.”

Thankfully, James let it slide and silently followed Clint back to his hotel. Clint used the time to wonder what the fuck he was going to tell Jasper, but like back in Ostrava, James wasn’t a threat. Clint just wasn’t sure if Jasper would see it that way.

He sent a quick text to Jasper, because Jasper deserved a heads up, and let James into the room he was sharing with Jasper. Retreating to the window, Clint took up a position by the window ledge, keeping an eye out for Jasper’s appearance and trying to give James space. James hesitated, standing in the middle of the room and just staring, which was at odds with the man who’d confronted Clint with a knife not that long ago.

Of course, Clint also hadn’t woken up after being mindfucked for decades, so what did he know?

“Want a drink?” Clint asked, because he probably still had some Polish vodka hidden somewhere.

James turned to him, eyebrows raised. Or at least Clint thought they were. He was still wearing his hat pulled down low. “Why not?” he said.

Clint pulled a bottle out of his bags and cracked it open, taking a large swig before passing it to James. Smirking faintly, James took a drink himself and passed the bottle back. It took a little coaxing, but by the time Jasper burst into the room, wild-eyed, James had tentatively sat down on the bed closest to Clint’s window perch, if only to be in reach of the vodka bottle.

Of course, at Jasper’s entrance, he immediately surged to his feet, his hand going for a hidden weapon and his eyes hard and assessing. “Easy,” Clint muttered. “Meanwhile, subtle much, Jas?”

Jasper snorted and glared at Clint. “Fuck you, Barton,” he replied. His gaze flicked down to the bottle in Clint’s hands. “I thought you weren’t drinking?”

“Didn’t think I’d be held at knife-point this evening, either, so I guess plans change,” Clint said.

James smirked faintly again. “Hey, fuck you, pal,” he said.

Jasper let out a breath. “Okay,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, followed by a whole lot of swearing under his breath. “Okay.” He straightened his shoulders and fixed James with a sharp stare. “You going to shoot us if we ask you a few questions?”

“No,” James replied.

“Oh, goody,” Jasper snapped.

Clint huffed out a chuckle. “I think he likes you,” he said to James. “But then Jas always did have a soft spot for assholes.”

“Well, it’s not just my violent hatred for Hydra that has me sticking with you, Barton,” Jasper said dryly. Then his face lost all traces of amusement. “Okay, uh…”

“James,” Clint supplied.

“James,” Jasper said. “Why are you here?”

“I need your help,” James said softly.

Jasper raised his eyebrows. “ _ Our _ help? Is that why you were stalking us in Ostrava? And why us exactly?”

James shrugged. “I needed to make sure you were who I thought you were.”

“And that is?” Jasper said.

Glancing up, James’ expression eloquently suggested the answer was obvious. “Not Hydra,” he said.

“Great,” Jasper growled. “That explains everything.”

“There’s something I want to know,” Clint said, swallowing another mouthful of vodka and feeling it burn all the way down to his stomach. “How did you get away?”

James glanced away, his hands curling into fists. “They sent me in to face Captain…  _ Steve _ on my own. Afterwards, I was supposed to meet them at a rendezvous point. I… didn’t. I disappeared,” he said, his smirk reappearing. “I’m very good at disappearing.”

“Will they send people after you?” Jasper asked softly.

“If they find me, yes,” James said. Something deep in his eyes hardened into ice. “But I’m not going back. Not alive.”

Clint raised his vodka bottle. “Now that’s a sentiment I can agree with,” he said.

James glanced at him and nodded once. Clint nodded back, because he really could understand where James was coming from. Even so, deep in his chest that held the little spark that Phil Coulson had nurtured was urging him to make sure it didn’t come to that. And Clint was going to listen to it. Listen to Phil.

And then maybe he’d be able to stop running.

<*>

Letting out a breath, Clint glanced at the huddled form of James under the blankets of his bed. James didn’t stir, but that didn’t mean he was asleep, no matter how worn out he was from all the pain and confusion. On the other bed, Jasper was huddled just as much. He’d watched Jasper succumb to sleep two hours ago, a certain sense of wistfulness tight in his chest. Even with the nightmares that plagued Jasper, it had been a long time since Clint had slept with such ease. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to relax his guard. Safety felt like an illusion, no matter who was watching his back.

Maybe that’s why he was running so hard from Phil and what Phil meant to him. His emotions were so tangled that Clint couldn’t be sure what he felt anymore, but he also had to face that fact that he couldn’t keep running. 

Grabbing his coat, Clint slipped outside just as dawn was starting to lighten the sky. His fingers only trembled slightly this time as he dialled the number for his message service. He desperately wanted Phil’s voice in his ear as much as he didn’t want to hear whatever words Phil had left for him. It was like being torn between pleasure and agony, but if Phil had left him those messages, then Clint needed to listen to them.

Clint detoured to where he’d left the messages, not wanting to listen to the first. Not yet. There were a few from Natasha first, increasingly clipped as she lost patience with him, but Clint ignored the pang of guilt they inspired, too.

“ _ Clint. It’s me again _ ,” Phil began, his voice hitching when Clint found Phil’s next message. The laugh that followed was bitter and cold. “ _ Your own personal ghost _ .” And fuck, that’s exactly what Phil was, but Clint deserved every painful second of this haunting, because  _ he hadn’t been there _ .

Just like he wasn’t there now.

“ _ I really hope that wherever you are, you’re safe. God, I hope you’re safe _ ,” Phil said. “ _ I wish I was there with you, too, but I don’t think I’d be much help, even if you wanted me. Coming back to life is harder than it looks in the movies. _ ”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in a sob. That was Phil, his perfect, stupid asshole.

“ _ Shit. I can’t even make jokes about it without feeling like someone’s just driven their fist into my gut. How bad is that?” _ Phil continued _. “I really wish you were here, Clint. You’d probably make some God-awful pun, but it would make me feel less useless anyway. And I wouldn’t feel like I’d failed you, because you’d be here. Not wherever you are, because you thought SHIELD had given up on you _ .”

Phil’s shuddering breath matched Clint’s. “ _ I’m sorry, Clint. I’m so sorry. _ ”

No, it was Clint who should be sorry. Sorry for running, sorry for not being strong enough to face everything. Before he could stop it, the message slid into the next, and he wasn’t ready, his heart already torn to shreds.

“ _ Hi, Clint _ ,” Phil greeted softly. “ _ I’m not sure where you are, but I hope you’re safe. That you’ve found somewhere to… to hide, I guess. Or whatever you’re doing. _ ” Phil was silent for a beat and Clint desperately wanted to see his face. “ _ I don’t even know if you’ve heard about Hydra. That they’re… They’ve been inside SHIELD from the start, rotting away at the core of everything. People we fought beside, bled with, are  _ Hydra _. _ ” He sucked in a breath. “ _ Garrett’s Hydra. He tried to shoot me, but Melinda saved me. Shit, Clint. We were supposed to be the good guys _ .”

“Fuck,” Clint breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. Garrett had trained with Phil, and they’d been friends. That kind of betrayal cut deep and left a scar that never went away.

“ _ Part of me hopes you haven’t heard yet, because right now I feel like I can’t breathe, and I’d protect you from this if I could _ ,” Phil continued, and of course he would. Phil would face down anyone to protect Clint from the blow. “ _ But I want you to know that I’m going to fight them, fight Hydra. I’m going to put my second chance to good use, like you did after Nick recruited you _ .”

Phil’s voice caught again, and Clint felt the remaining pieces of his heart break with it. “ _ I’m not sure I have your strength, Clint, but I’m going to try. And I’m sorry that I’m not coming to find you right now, that I’m not tearing the world apart until I can see you again. I want to. You have no idea how much I want to, but I can’t. Not while Hydra is out there and innocent people are going to get hurt. They need to be stopped, and I’m not sure anyone outside of SHIELD knows what Hydra is capable of. I have to try to stop them _ .”

Oh,  _ shit _ . Clint wasn’t strong, not the way Phil was saying he was. He hadn’t decided to fight Hydra because it was the right thing to do, or because of any ideal. He’d just wanted to tear Hydra apart for what they’d done, because he was angry and in pain and Hydra had made a good target. The sobs choking his throat were making it burn and Phil’s final words were barely audible over the sickening pounding of Clint’s heart.

“ _ Just… take care of yourself. Please _ .”

“Phil,” Clint whispered brokenly. Phil’s raw, unpolished words had done what nothing else had -- smashed through the calm detachment Clint had been trying to surround himself with since he became Ronin. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Phil had cracked open Clint’s chest and reminded him that despite the agony, he was and always would be Clint Barton. A flawed, scarred man who loved Phil Coulson more than he loved himself. Even if he put on Ronin’s mask, he’d still be Clint Barton.

And right now, there was only one thing Clint Barton needed to do.

At the soft scuff of footsteps behind him, Clint scrubbed at the tears sliding down his cheeks, only to meet James’ sardonically raised eyebrow. “Are you okay?” James asked.

Clint let out a bitter laugh. “No,” he said. “No, I am not okay.”

James shrugged, as if Clint’s answer didn’t matter to him. “I’m not, either. Not like that’s a surprise to anyone,” he said. “But I know what it’s like. To stand in the dust of everything you used to be, and not know if there’s anything left to save.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, blowing out a shaky breath. “But maybe this is where we try to build something new.”

Maybe that was the only thing Clint  _ could _ do.

“And how’s that working out for you?” James said.

“I’ll let you know,” Clint said.

James snorted. “I asked them, you know,” he said. “When I started to remember. I asked about… Steve. They said I was unstable.”

He glanced at Clint out the corner of his eye. “Pierce used to tell me that my work was a gift to mankind,” he said, scoffing bitterly. “That the world was at a tipping point between order and chaos, and that I was helping give the world the freedom it deserves.” James’ smile was cold and vicious. “He used to say that right before he wiped my memory to turn me back into the mindless little soldier he wanted.”

“Well, I can see how well that’s working out for him,” Clint said dryly.

James smirked faintly, which seemed to be one of the few genuine emotions he allowed himself. “I had a point to that. I wasn’t just trying to have sharing time,” he said.

“Oh?” Clint said.

“Yeah,” James replied. “Hydra doesn’t understand us. They don’t care about people. To them, we’re things or tools.  _ Assets _ . Our heartbreaks and joys don’t matter to them, but they matter to us.” He glanced at Clint. “So use it. Use everything you’ve got, everything that’s twisted up and jagged, and burn them with it.”

Clint tilted his head back to stare at the sky. When you walked through fire, you couldn’t expect to come out unscathed. But, by nature, that’s what SHIELD agents did. They gave themselves over to the flames, let it consume them, so that others wouldn’t have to. That was a truth Clint had long since accepted, but maybe he’d forgotten what it really meant. Hiding behind his detachment as Ronin wasn’t helping. James was right.

Clint needed to  _ use _ all his pain and fear and helpless rage. And he was going to turn that fire on Hydra, and burn them to the ground.

But first, he was going to find Natasha and find Phil, and they were going to do it  _ together _ . It was time for Clint to stop running.

<*>


	21. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sorry this chapter is late, but I got hit with a migraine and couldn't post it as scheduled. I'm going to post the next chapter tomorrow as planned <3

_ Temporary safehouse, Pila, Poland _

Natasha sighed, pausing as she packed up her gear. To say that their attempt on the bunker just outside of Pila had been a bust was an understatement. Everything had exploded far beyond their plans in a way Natasha was still attempting to wrap her head around. Clint. Clint  _ had been there _ . 

The surprised desperation had been little more than a burst of noise over the comms until Natasha had figured it out, but her heart had constricted in her chest when Phil had called after him. It hurt that two of her closest friends were tearing themselves apart.

“ _ Oh, little hawk _ ,” Natasha whispered in Russian. She should have been there for Clint, should have tried to stop him running, but she hadn’t. And now more than just her heart was breaking from it.

Closing her eyes, Natasha tried to calm her mind and focus on what she needed to do. If Clint really  _ was _ Ronin, then Melinda and Nick needed to be informed. And there was Phil to deal with -- he wasn’t dealing well with his resurrection, not after the blow of finding out Hydra was inside SHIELD, and this news might tip him over the edge. Natasha was not going to give up on another of her friends, not this time. If Phil needed her, she was going to be there.

His face had been alarmingly blank as they’d made their escape from the Hydra base, and Natasha had endeavoured to give Phil a little space. She would talk to him, but only after they had solid walls around them, a place Hydra couldn’t find them. A place where Phil could finally let down his guard. Until then, all she could do was watch Phil’s back and wait.

Natasha was very good at waiting.

<*>

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Once they were back in London, cornering Coulson turned out to be harder than Natasha expected. Or perhaps Natasha should have anticipated the way Phil turned elusive whenever a conversation about his emotions was imminent. If Natasha hadn’t been so worried, she would have been amused.

When her burner phone started buzzing in her pocket, Natasha froze. It was unlike her to give such a reaction, but she was alone in her room, so at least no one caught it. Not that her reaction stopped the fear that curled tight in her stomach. Only a handful of people knew the number of her latest burner phone, and it was unlikely that the news would be good. The remains of SHIELD were barely surviving.

Still, Natasha had been many things in her life, but never a coward. She pulled out her phone and answered, shoulders and back straight.

“Yes?”

“Tasha? Thank  _ fuck _ .” Maria Hill's voice was sharp, but the relief was clear. “You know, I’m getting  _ really _ fed up with not being able to call anyone.”

Natasha smiled, because if Maria was grumbling, then maybe the news wouldn’t be terrible. Maria never grumbled when she was focused on stopping the world from imploding in an imminent fashion.

“Sorry,” Natasha said.

Maria huffed. “No, you’re not,” she muttered. “You just enjoy being mysterious, despite what that mystery does to my blood pressure.”

“Aww, Maria, I’ve missed you, too,” Natasha said. Clint Barton was the brother of her soul for a  _ reason _ .

“Gee, thanks,” Maria drawled, her tone as dry as a desert.

A tone she’d picked up from Coulson, and Natasha ignored the way her heart gave a pang. Coulson would heal. They all would.

“So,” Natasha said, taking a deep breath. “What do you need me to do?”

Maria was silent for a beat. “Nothing, Tash. I just wanted to check in.”

Natasha swallowed. “I don’t have much of a status update to give.” She’d already passed on the intel of who was under Ronin’s mask. “And I’m… fine.”

Maria snorted. “You usually lie a lot better than that.”

“It’s not a lie,” Natasha replied. And it wasn’t, really. “I… Steve Rogers has a way of making you re-examine your life choices.”

“Steve Rogers also has a way of making you want to smack him with his vibranium shield,” Maria said. “It’s the idealism. He forgets that storming through the front door of the castle isn’t the only way to fight.”

Natasha had accepted her training and how it made her think a long time ago, but she’d never lost the vulnerability and doubt that it made her just as bad as the people she fought. Steve hadn’t meant any of that when he’d brought up the question of trust. Yet the doubts still lingered.

_ You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is _ .

“Steve has a point, though,” Natasha said softly. Did she really know who she was underneath the mask of the Black Widow, or had the mask become what she was? “We won’t be fighting Hydra forever. Maybe we need to think of the future, too.”

Maria snorted again. “What do you think we’re fighting for, Tasha?” she said. “Everything we’re doing, we’re doing  _ for _ the future. So that we have one.”

Natasha swallowed. “And when the fighting is over?”

“Then we move onto the next battle,” Maria said pragmatically. “There’s never a shortage of assholes to fight.”

There was an undeniable truth in Maria’s words, yet it didn’t stop the twisting in Natasha’s gut. It wasn’t just Steve’s words that had given rise to her uncertainty -- the fall of SHIELD, Phil’s reported death, Clint’s disappearance. They’d all shaken the ground beneath her feet. She was the Black Widow, trained to be transmutable, the perfect weapon for any situation, but perhaps that wasn’t all Natasha wanted to be anymore.

Of course, she should probably save all the philosophical decisions about her life until  _ after _ they’d defeated Hydra.

“I do actually have some intel to pass on,” Maria said. “Even though it wasn’t the reason for my call.”

“Oh?” Natasha said.

“Yeah,” Maria said. She let out a breath that if uttered by anyone else would be a heavy sigh. “I’ve been dealing with the taskforce sent to mop up the remains of SHIELD. It’s headed by Colonel Talbot, and, well, Talbot’s pigheaded stubborness is beside the point.”

Natasha smiled at the undercurrent of frustration in Maria’s voice, because if there was a confrontation between Talbot and Maria, Natasha would bet on Maria every time. “What  _ is _ the point?” she said.

“The  _ point _ ,” Maria replied, “is that Talbot may be hiding some of your favourite party tricks in a giant warehouse. By now, I’m pretty sure it’s a one stop shop for renegade spies.”

Well, that sounded promising.

“I could do with a few party tricks,” Natasha said.

“Guess I’d better send you the coordinates, then,” Maria said. “And while you’re there, I have a list.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, even if Maria couldn’t see it. A bright kernel of warmth flared in her chest.  _ Hope _ . Natasha had been fatalistically convinced that SHIELD was broken, its agents scattered to the winds, but that wasn’t the entire truth. They were still fighting.

_ The truth is a matter of circumstances _ . She’d said that to Steve when they’d been on the run from Hydra, and she still believed that. Yet, good agents like Maria were still planning and fighting and refusing to surrender, and that belief would echo. Ripple out, until it was a wave strong enough to  _ change _ their circumstances. SHIELD might be down, but they wouldn’t stay down forever.

Not if Natasha had anything to say about it.

“Done,” she told Maria. “I’m good at stealing shit.”

“I know,” Maria agreed.

<*>

Buoyed by her conversation with Maria, Natasha retreated to the bunker’s old mess hall to contemplate her next steps over a cup of tea. With Melinda in residence, it was likely she’d find a variety of tea, but Natasha had been disappointed before. Of course, this was also  _ London _ , so tea shouldn’t be too hard to find.

She blinked once when she found Melinda already in the kitchen, sitting at one of the smaller tables. She wasn’t even pretending to do anything other than wait, and Natasha couldn’t stop the way she automatically tensed. She didn’t let it show, however.

Instead, Natasha moved to the stove to boil the kettle, conscious the entire while of Melinda’s steady stare hitting her right between the shoulder blades. When the small pot of green tea had finished steeping, Natasha brought it over to where Melinda was still sitting silently. Melinda quirked an eyebrow in a way that had Natasha’s fingers twitching to fetch a second cup.

Natasha gave in to her instincts and pulled a second cup out of the cupboard, before bringing both cups over to the table and taking a seat opposite Melinda. She poured them both some tea, pointedly placing the second cup pointedly in front of Melinda. Melinda’s lips turned up into the ghost of a smile.

“Have you seen Phil?” Melinda asked finally, her smile fading.

“I believe he’s in his room,” Natasha told her. “If you’re asking if I've talked to him about Clint, the answer is no.”

Melinda frowned.

“So,” Natasha said levelly. “How’s Phil? I mean,  _ really _ ?”

Melinda snorted. “Avoiding his emotions and focusing on the mission instead,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the stubborn ass hasn’t actually  _ dealt _ with any of his issues.”

Natasha smiled wryly. “That sounds about right.”

Sipping her tea, Melinda studied Natasha with her dark gaze. “He… he hasn’t been the same since he woke up,” she said carefully. “It’s nothing dramatic. I’ve been watching, because Nick asked me to, and… Coulson’s the same man he’s always been: smart, capable, nobility streak a mile wide.” She huffed quietly. “But… it’s different.”

Natasha nodded. Some things changed you, irrevocably and forever, in ways it was hard to predict. She imagined death would be one of those things. “He hasn’t accepted dying?” she asked mildly, sipping her own tea.

Melinda shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I think… to Phil, dying made sense. It’s the living that he’s having trouble with.”

Briefly, Natasha closed her eyes.  _ Oh, Phil _ . “And you think that seeing Clint and then losing him again is going to make that worse?” she asked, because she could follow Melinda’s thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Melinda admitted.

Natasha sighed. “Well, if he starts brooding more than usual, let me know and I’ll kick his ass,” she said.

Melinda smiled. “I will,” she replied. Sipping her tea again, she raised an eyebrow. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m holding together,” Natasha said, her lips quirking up into a smirk. “I’m tougher than I look.” She cocked her head at Melinda. “We both are.”

“And thank fuck for that,” Melinda said dryly, and Natasha had to laugh. She’d missed Melinda’s company.

“So,” Natasha said, gesturing towards Melinda with her tea cup. “Why were you waiting for me?”

Melinda’s mouth curled into a smirk of her own. “I need your help.”

“Oh?” Natasha prompted, but she was already calculating what gear she might need.

“Bobbi and Simmons need a covert extraction,” Melinda said. “We don’t have the agents for a strike team, and we definitely don’t have the right… resources.”

Natasha’s smirk widened. “I may have a lead on that. I assume it’s the same one you have,” she said, because Melinda  _ always _ had a plan.

“It might be,” Melinda agreed. “Which is why I need you. Want to help me steal a quinjet?”

Natasha toasted Melinda with her teacup. “Oh, you have no idea how much,” she said. “When do we leave?”

<*>

_ Near the Government Storage Warehouse, Arlington, Virginia _

Like all Melinda’s plans, the scheme to steal a quinjet was both simple and challenging. Of course, for agents of Natasha and Melinda’s capabilities, it was a little less difficult than it would be for anyone else, and Natasha had always loved a challenge. Maria’s lead  _ had _ been the same as Maria’s intel. The Government Storage Warehouse -- despite it’s less than thrilling name -- was run by the USAF and was currently being overseen by Colonel Talbot himself. That was probably a good indication that the base was therefore storing a lot of stolen SHIELD tech, but it did present a few problems.

The USAF was hardly going to let them waltz in and steal their stuff back.

Well, not without a disguise.

Natasha smiled to herself and adjusted her uniform skirt. The material was thick and the cut was really not flattering, but she was counting on that. Her mousey brown wig itched, too, but between that and the thick-framed glasses, people should barely look twice at her. She was only pretending to be a corporal, after all.

“Okay, so here’s your night-night gun,” Daisy said brightly, wandering up beside her and handing Natasha a gun that was only slightly heavier than a normal pistol.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “A night-night gun?”

Daisy nodded, eyes bright with a flash of humour. “Yeah, you know, because you shoot them and they go night-night?” She shrugged. “Fitz and Jemma came up with it, before Jemma went undercover.”

“Useful,” Natasha said, tucking the pistol under her uniform jacket. As much as she didn’t like it and considered it incredibly short-sighted, she didn’t actually want to hurt any of the USAF personnel trying to take down the remains of SHIELD. Nominally, they were on the same side, after all, assuming they ever realised that Hydra was the true threat.

Natasha was going to hold out hope, and she was blaming Coulson entirely for that streak of optimism. She never  _ used _ to have one.

“I’ll be on comms the whole time if you need me,” Daisy said. “I mean, not that I’m implying you would, because you’re, you know, the  _ Black Widow _ , but I’ll be here… if you need me.”

Daisy trailed off with a wince, and Natasha pressed her lips together so she didn’t smile. She could definitely see why Coulson had adopted her as one of his chosen agents. It had taken Natasha an almost embarrassingly long time to spot, but Coulson was a fan of superheroes and all the justice and righting wrongs they stood for.  _ Of course _ he’d find a kindred soul to join his ragtag band of agents, even when SHIELD was crumbling.

“Thank you,” she said to Daisy.

Daisy’s cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t break Natasha’s gaze. She nodded. “I got your back.”

Before Natasha could formulate a response, or finish squashing down the spark of warmth flaring in her chest again, Agent Triplett walked into the room, dressed in the formal blue uniform of a USAF General. Catching both Natasha and Daisy watching, he held out his arms as if inviting them to look.

Daisy cleared her throat. “Well, you definitely look the part,” she said.

“Come on, girl. You know I look good,” Trip said, flashing a grin at Daisy.

Natasha snorted delicately, wandering up behind Trip and deliberately letting her gaze linger on the fit of the uniform. “You always make it look good,” she said, because Trip did.

Trip chuckled and winked in her direction, and for a brief sliver of a moment, it felt just like the prep for a Strike Team Delta mission. Natasha had to resist the urge to close her eyes, because for all her pragmatism, for all that nothing ever lasted forever, she had hoped SHIELD and the home she’d found there would prove to be the exception to the rule.

Maybe that home wasn’t entirely gone, however. Not with the people she’d found still alive and fighting.

“Agent Romanoff,” Trip greeted with a casual nod.

That was new. Trip had stopped being so formal with his address several joint missions with Strike Team Delta ago. About the same time he and Clint had started driving Coulson mad with their  _ witty repartee _ .

Natasha nodded back. “Trip.”

Trip flashed her a bright smile.  _ Ah _ . Not a test, then, but the formalities of respect.

“Are we ready to get this party on the road?” Natasha said, because they had a warehouse to raid and SHIELD tech to steal back.

“I’m ready to kick some ass,” Melinda said, walking up. There was a tight twist to her mouth that spoke of an argument, which presumably Melinda had won because Nick was notably absent. As was Coulson, which hopefully meant both of them were staying behind to man the comms.

Unlike Natasha and Trip, Melinda was dressed in her usual black combat gear. She’d be accompanying Daisy, because Daisy needed a link to hack into the Warehouse’s systems. Hence Natasha and Trip acting as much as a distraction as trying to gain a way inside the base itself. Then, after Natasha and Trip got inside and gave Daisy access to the base, Melinda would head directly for where they were storing the quinjets and fly it right out of there. Natasha, meanwhile, would be stealing a few other things. After all, Maria  _ had  _ given her a list.

“Then let’s go,” Natasha said.

<*>

_ Government Storage Warehouse, Virginia _

Natasha eased the car to a stop at the gate. She could spot six soldiers within a visible radius, and there would be at least double that if anyone called in a response team. Not that anyone would, because Natasha had been the Black Widow long before she’d joined SHIELD and getting into places she shouldn’t was something she was  _ very _ good at.

Lowering the window, she eyed the guard as he stepped up to the car. “General Jones, here to see Colonel Talbot,” Natasha said, broadening her vowels into a credible Georgian accent.

“Uh, General Jones?” the guard said, flicking his eyes between Natasha and Trip’s silent figure in the back seat. The guard couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and he bit his lip as he glanced down at the tablet in his hands. “I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t have General Jones on the register today.”

“Shit, give me a second,” Daisy’s voice echoed over the comms.

This part of the plan had always been a risk. Hacking into the base’s secure systems wasn’t easy. Natasha counted the soldiers for a second time. Still too many to take down before anyone noticed. “Are you sure?” she asked the guard. His uniform read  _ Tilden _ .

Tilden glanced down again. “Sorry, ma’am.” His gaze flicked to Trip again. “I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”

“Daisy?” Phil said via the comms. “Is everything all right?”

“Military compounds bury their cables,” Daisy grumbled. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

Shit, this wasn’t working out the way they’d planned. Of course, plans rarely went the way they were supposed to, but Natasha didn’t have an immediate solution to how they’d get out of this. Flirting probably wouldn’t work this time.

“If you could please exit to the left, ma’am?” Tilden said.

“Hold up,” Nick’s voice muttered. “I have a bad idea.”

Thankfully, before Tilden could ask them to leave again and Natasha was forced to delay, the phone in the gatehouse rang shrilly. Tilden glanced over his shoulder, hesitating, before inevitably giving in. He only glanced once at Natasha as he turned to grab the phone through the window of the gatehouse. “Gatehouse,” he said.

“This is General Talbot.” It was only the fact that Talbot’s voice echoed over the comm in Natasha’s ear that prevented her jerk of surprise. Letting out a silent breath, Natasha hoped Nick’s bad idea would work.

“Sir,” Tilden said, stiffening as his eyes went wide.

“Why has General Jones and his government escort been delayed at the date, soldier?” Nick-as-Talbot demanded. “Wave them through.”

“Uh, sorry sir,” Tilden said. “His name’s not in the register, and I’m under strict orders to-”

“Now, you listen to me, son,” Nick-as-Talbot interrupted.

“Private Tilden,” Phil’s voice supplied.

“Private Tilden,” Nick-as-Talbot continued without missing a beat.

Natasha had to admit that as tense as it was to sit tight and wait for her team to clear the way, it was also slightly amusing to listen to Phil and Nick work. It reminded her of old times, back when she and Clint had been new to SHIELD, but Phil had still given them a chance and gone along with all of their plans, no matter how bat-shit crazy. It had taken her a while to realize that the suits were as much a disguise as the ones she wore, and underneath, Phil Coulson was as much of an adrenaline junkie as the rest of them. He just hid it better.

“Uh, yes sir?” Tilden said, darting another glance at Natasha and the car.

“I don’t care about this register or that,” Nick-as-Talbot continued. “I want General Jones sent directly to the ordnance depot to meet me.”

Tilden’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t look convinced.

“He’s not buying it,” Phil hissed, and Natasha wondered what kind of eyes they had on the gate. “Go bigger.”

“Wave them through, Private, or I’ll have you so deep in horse manure, you’ll need a damn snorkel.”

“I understand, sir,” Tilden said, “but I can’t…” He glanced down at the tablet in his hands when it gave a small ding. “Oh.”

“Got it!” Daisy said. “You should be good now.”

“Nevermind, sir,” Tilden said. “I’ll wave General Jones through now.”

“Nice work, soldier,” Nick-as-Talbot said, and Natasha let out another silent breath. “Talbot out.”

Private Tilden waved them through and Natasha let out a slow breath as she eased the car forwards. From there, it was easy to follow the directions in her ear until Natasha was parking the car behind a row of shipping containers. In the distance, a large storage shed loomed beside what could only be a hanger.

Directly outside the hanger, gleaming in the sunlight, was a quinjet. Natasha smiled. It was like Talbot  _ wanted _ to have his shit stolen.

“We’re heading to grab as much as we can from storage,” Natasha said quietly as she and Trip climbed out of the car.

“Copy that,” Melinda replied. “Heading for the rendezvous point.”

“There’s something bright and shiny waiting for you, too,” Natasha said.

Melinda didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. With a glance at Trip, she headed for the storage warehouse. Some of the more advanced tech was probably stored in the main building at the base, but it was too risky. Everything in storage would be boxed and easier to transport, and they were just going to have to grab as much as they could find before someone raised the alarm.

The storage warehouse was deserted, and Natasha immediately started searching. There wasn’t much organization to the crates, boxes and cases on the metal shelves, but thankfully, a lot of them also bore the SHIELD logo. Natasha was used to SHIELD, and exactly what a small black case like the one to her left would contain.

Natasha was just slinging the strap of a large bag over her shoulder when a sharp, loud siren cut through the air. “Guess they know we’re here,” Trip said from her shoulder.

“I’m diverting as much as I can, but there’s only so much I can do,” Daisy said.

“Then it’s just as well that you brought a pilot,” Melinda told her.

Natasha grinned at Trip. They gathered as many of the boxes and cases as they could carry and headed outside -- and straight for the quinjet. Melinda was waiting for them, the unconscious bodies of two airmen at her feet and the quinjet’s ramp already lowered.

Daisy sprinted up just as Natasha and Trip had put the last of the crates in the ‘jet’s hold. “They’re right behind me,” she hissed, not even pausing as she hit the quinjet ramp.

Natasha shared a glance with Melinda and hit the button to close the ramp as Melinda immediately headed for the cockpit. “Let’s go,” she said.

From where she was standing, Natasha caught a glimpse of two jeeps full of guards and airmen screeching up through the gap of the closing ramp as the quinjet’s engines kicked into high gear. A second later, the quinjet tilted as it took off, the walls shuddering as Melinda put the ‘jet through its paces.

A few bullets pinged harmlessly off the outside and then they were in the air.

“That was fun,” Natasha said loudly over the engines.

Daisy blinked at her as Trip just laughed.

<*>

_ Somewhere over Dover, Delaware _

Since they were close to the Hydra laboratory where Bobbi and Jemma were undercover, and because their quinjet had a stealth cloak, Melinda had headed straight for Delaware after leaving the USAF Warehouse. There was no sense in wasting time. Besides, as much as they now had a quinjet, what they didn’t have was a place to  _ refuel _ , so until they did, this was probably the only flight they were going to get.

Natasha had gratefully stripped off her uniform and wig, changing into a spare pair of jeans and an old jacket stashed in one of the quinjet’s hidden compartments. Based on some of the other detritus, the USAF hadn’t managed to find them yet.

Feeling a little better, Natasha headed for the cockpit to join Melinda, if only for the company. Natasha would only be needed if Bobbi and Jemma didn’t make the exfil point on time. Until then, she could do what she wanted.

“Hey,” she said, slipping into the seat beside Melinda.

Melinda shot her a glance out of the corner of her eye, but kept flipping the switches to set the quinjet hovering. Melinda had deftly flown them right up to the main building of Hydra’s laboratory in Dover, and as long as they kept cloaked, no one would even know they were there. Well, unless they lingered too long, but that was a problem for later.

Natasha settled back into the seat as Melinda finished what she was doing and did the same. Natasha let out a breath. She’d missed Melinda’s calm quiet.

“You and Nick are close, aren’t you?” Melinda said into the silence.

Natasha nodded. It wasn’t a secret, among most senior agents at least, that Nick considered Natasha to be a surrogate daughter. Natasha had resisted reciprocating for years, for reasons she still wasn’t entirely clear on, except for the ingrained urge not to let people close. The rippling effects of her Red Room beginnings ran deep. “We are,” she said.

Melinda breathed out. “There’s something I want to ask.”

Natasha appreciated Melinda’s usual bluntness, and her current hesitation was strange. Although, Natasha had her suspicions as to why. “This is about the feelings Nick has for you,” she said, attempting to get straight to the point.

Her eyes widening, Melinda shot Natasha a sharp look.  _ Oh _ . A smile spread across Natasha’s face, a warmth curling in her chest. “No,” she said softly. “This is about  _ your _ feelings for Nick.”

“Not just Nick,” Melinda said, glancing away. “I’m well aware of Nick’s… arrangement with Jasper, and I don’t mean to intrude.”

Natasha frowned. “What arrangement?”

Melinda tightened her jaw. “They’re sleeping together.”

The way Melinda stumbled slightly over her words wasn’t obvious, but it was telling. Natasha snorted. “They slept together  _ once _ . I’d hardly call that an arrangement,” she said. “Besides, trust me. You would very much  _ not _ be intruding.”

“Tasha,” Melinda said softly, but Natasha was having none of it.

“Look, most of what I know Nick hasn’t told me directly, because he’s worse than Phil about talking about his feelings,” Natasha said. “I know that Nick has always had a soft spot for Jasper, that Nick likes spending time with him. I  _ also _ know that Nick has spent more years than he’ll admit to watching  _ you _ .”

Natasha swallowed, and it was her turn to glance away from Melinda’s intense gaze. “Whatever is going on is more complicated than you think, but if it helps, I think Nick had genuine feelings for  _ both _ of you.” She hesitated to reveal the next bit, because it almost felt like a violation of Jasper’s trust, but Melinda deserved to know. “You do know that Jasper’s also had a crush on you for years, right?”

“But is that enough?” Melinda asked quietly.

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. This was where mere observation failed her. She’d never been in love, not really. She’d come close, when she was barely sixteen, but Yasha had never really existed, and so much had changed since then. “I don’t know,” Natasha admitted truthfully. “I suppose, all you can do is decide what you’d regret most: trying, or keeping silent?”

Melinda nodded, clearly considering the words. “Thanks, Tasha,” she said.

Natasha shrugged again. “It’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” she replied.

That was what Clint always said, anyway.

“It is,” Melinda agreed.

<*>

In the end, Bobbi and Jemma’s rescue was a little anticlimactic. Well, at least from Natasha’s point of view. Not that she’d wanted a dramatic gunfight, but punching a few Hydra assholes might have made her feel better.

In the end, Bobbi and a young brunette who could only be Jemma Simmons burst out onto the roof of the Hydra laboratory building with a crash. They sprinted across the roof, and Natasha had barely needed to lift her gun and fire a few warning shots at the pursuing security before Bobbi and Simmons were leaping  _ off _ the roof.

And landing on the cloaked quinjet.

Natasha smirked at the expressions on the goon’s faces and shot two of them. She wasn’t one to waste an opportunity, after all.

“Good to see you, Tash,” Bobbi said breathlessly, scrambling to her feet.

“You, too,” Natasha replied. She eyed Bobbi’s dark brown hair with skepticism, but Bobbi looked good. She always looked good.

Bobbi flashed her a sharp grin and scrambled over to where Trip was already helping Simmons through the quinjet’s hatch. Natasha fired a few more shots at the security thugs, even as Melinda kicked the quinjet engines into a higher gear in warning of their imminent departure.

Natasha’s smirk widened. SHIELD may be in pieces, but they hadn’t been beaten. Not yet. Not ever if Natasha had a say.

And maybe this time she did.

<*>

_ Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean _

The burner phone in Natasha’s pocket rang about four hours out from London. Natasha headed towards the back of the quinjet as she answered, and hoped it wasn’t bad news. “Yes?” she said.

“Natasha.” Natasha arched an eyebrow, because while she’d given the number of her phone to Steve if he needed it, she’d doubted Captain America would actually call.

“Steve,” Natsha replied.

There was a beat of slightly ominous silence. “Is everything okay?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Steve said finally. “But that’s nothing new.”

Natasha snorted, because that was true. “How’s the search going?” she asked.

She had a suspicion about what had happened to the Winter Soldier, but she wasn’t going to say anything without proof. Not when he meant so much to Steve. Yasha was not hers to find.

“We lost Bucky’s trail in Poland, but we’ll find it again,” Steve said. “I could always use another friend to help.”

Natasha frowned, because she’d just been in Poland and she didn’t believe in coincidences. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she said. “But I need to be here.”

“Natasha--” Steve said, but Natasha cut him off.

“I was turned into a weapon a long time ago,” she said in a low voice. “I never had any choice, not if I wanted to live. Maybe a weapon is all I’ll ever be, but I can’t abandon this fight. These people. This fight  _ matters _ .”

“So does finding Bucky,” Steve said, his tone sharpening with anger. “Everyone else has given up on him. I’m not going to.”

“I’m not asking you to, Steve,” Natasha said. “I’m just asking you to understand why I have to be here.” She hesitated, but maybe Steve needed to hear what she had to say. “There is a reason Peggy Carter devoted her life to SHIELD. Why good men like Phil Coulson were willing to give their  _ lives _ for it.”

Her voice barely caught on Phil’s name, but her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. “I’m not going to let Hydra destroy that.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a long breath. “Okay. Just… watch your back, Natasha. I don’t want to lose another friend.”

Warmth spread through Natasha’s chest. “Only if you promise to watch yours,” she said. “Tell Sam to be careful, too.”

“Deal,” Steve said.

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath after Steve hung up. Something settled deep inside her ribs, an ever-present tension lifting from her shoulders. The Black Widow had always been dangerous, but there was one thing  _ more _ dangerous and it had been men like Nick Fury and Phil Coulson that had helped her see.

Because the Black Widow had a fight she  _ believed in _ , now as much as ever. And that was the most dangerous thing in the world.

<*>

  
  
  



	22. Phil

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Phil stared down into his coffee mug, his eyes gritty with exhaustion and his mind filled with white noise. He’d been like that ever since he’d seen Clint in Poland. For one heartbreaking moment, the air had frozen as Clint had said his name, and Phil had thought that  _ finally _ Clint would be coming back to where Phil could watch him. Except Clint had fled, eyes bleak, a choked apology on his lips.

And now Phil was trying very hard not to believe that it was his presence, the sight of  _ Phil _ , that had caused Clint to run so fast.

Phil was torn between his duty and his team, and going after Clint. Just like he’d been torn since Nick had told him that the WSC had taken his assets. The indecision was twisting him up inside, and it was so unlike the calm persona of Agent Coulson, who never hesitated even on the tough calls.  Phil had always struggled more in his personal life than his professional one, but this was more than that. His mother had always told him that falling in love with the right person would challenge him, but Phil didn’t think this had been what she’d meant.

At least Natasha had his back. But could Phil really be selfish enough to ignore the danger of Hydra just to follow his heart?

“Okay, AC, whatever you’re thinking about, you gotta stop,” Skye said quietly. “You’re one giant pretzel knot right now.”

Phil blinked, glancing up from where he’d been mangling a slice of toast. “Skye,” he greeted, attempting a smile.

Skye joined him in the small base kitchenette, sitting down opposite and staring at him across the table. “You have to stop overthinking it,” she said. “Whatever it is.”

Huffing, Phil raised his eyebrows. “That easy, huh?”

Skye shrugged. “If you want it to be,” she replied.

“I’m… actually, I don’t know what I am,” Phil said. “Except doubting that I should ever have left Poland.”

“You want to go after him,” Skye said. “Your guy.”

“Yes,” Phil agreed. “And I can’t decide if that makes me a bad person for ignoring my duty, or a bad person for ignoring my heart.”

He perhaps wouldn’t have admitted so much if he hadn’t been so tired, but Skye had proved to be a good listener, and Phil needed to get some of the weight off his chest. “I never used to have this problem,” Phil added with a sigh. “Things used to be much clearer.”

Skye nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it,” she said dryly. “But, well, maybe you can think of this as an opportunity?”

Phil raised his eyebrows again. “An opportunity?”

“Things aren’t what they used to be. You’re still dealing with Hydra, and I… well, I can’t forget everything I’ve seen. I don’t  _ want _ to forget.” Skye bit her lip. “So maybe we can change, too. Becoming something different, bigger than who we used to be,” she said. She glanced up at him, her eyes bright. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this actually. For me. Skye is a hacktivist living out of her van, but I’m not that person anymore. I’m smarter and I’ve seen so much since then.” She let out a breath. “So I was thinking maybe instead, I could be Daisy Johnson, SHIELD agent. I still don’t really know who she is, or where she came from, but she’s not someone who sits on the sidelines. Even if that means I have to keep secrets now.”

Skye -- or perhaps it should be  _ Daisy _ \-- stared down at the tabletop, pushing her finger along the grain of wood. “Maybe you can do the same?” she said quietly. “Instead of Agent Coulson or Sergeant Coulson, or whoever you used to be, you can be someone who doesn’t abandon his duty, but also someone who doesn’t sacrifice himself to do it?”

Phil swallowed heavily. Melinda had tried to tell him something similar, and he hadn’t listened to her then, but maybe he should listen to both Melinda and Daisy now. SHIELD was fractured and underground, an echo of what they used to be, and if they managed to get through this, what they built SHIELD into would be different to what it had been. Phil could do the same for himself.

Instead of dwelling and brooding on what had been and  _ who _ he’d been, maybe he should be figuring out how he could stop Hydra  _ and _ find Clint. Sergeant Coulson had been a rough-around-the-edges Ranger, and Agent Coulson had been a man who had put his duty above everything else. Maybe it was time for Phil to be  _ Phil _ , whatever that meant. Maybe he needed to finally figure that out -- use the determination of the soldier, the focus of the agent, and the heart that beat underneath it all.

“Thank you, Sk…  _ Daisy _ ,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll… try.”

Daisy shrugged. “That’s all we can do, right?”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.

Smiling, Daisy nodded. Then she cleared her throat. “So, I didn’t only come in here to talk about my identity issues,” she said. “I found an Avenger, and apparently Commander Hill said you’d be excited about that? I mean, it  _ is _ pretty exciting. Thor is pretty dreamy.”

Phil blinked at the words before the meaning hit. “Wait. Thor is back on Earth?”

“Apparently,” Daisy said. “The news is going nuts about some sort of magical chaos happening in Greenwich, and before that Thor and his hammer were running around London. Figures we missed that while we were fighting Hydra assholes in Poland. I’ve always wanted to see that hammer up close, because I mean, it  _ flies _ .”

Phil smiled at Daisy’s enthusiasm. “Do we need to do anything?” he asked.

“Nah, Hill was pretty content to watch. She said it’s ‘not our business anymore because they fired us’, and they could run clean up themselves?” Daisy said.

“That sounds like Maria,” Phil muttered.

“I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Daisy said, climbing to her feet. “And, you know, I’m here if you need me, AC.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Phil replied.

Daisy shrugged. “What else are friends for, right?”

<*>

Phil jolted awake when the base’s intruder alarms sounded. He was out of bed and grabbing his gun before he’d even registered he’d moved, and then he was running out the door.  _ Please, don’t let it be Hydra _ .

Two doors down Phil bumped into Trip, who was also shaking off sleep and gripping a gun. “The east sensor grid was triggered,” he told Phil. “Someone’s trying to get in the back.”

Phil nodded and followed Trip as he headed in that direction. With Melinda and Natasha on their way back from rescuing Jemma and Bobbi, and Maria and Nick elsewhere, only Trip, Phil and Daisy had been left on the base, and Phil hoped they weren’t about to pay for that. Except, rather than the strike team Phil had feared they’d find, the corridor leading down from the rear door was empty. Phil frowned.

One of the shadows moved, and a man stepped into the dim light. Phil gasped, but the sound never reached his ears. He couldn’t look away, his brain not quite able to understand what he was seeing. White noise filled his head like static, his breath caught in his lungs. Like in Pila, the fluid grace was unmistakable. It was  _ Clint _ , breathing and whole and  _ right there _ . The blue eyes that have been haunting Phil’s dreams are dull and smudged with shadow, and somewhere between Poland and here, he’d cut his hair short again. His jacket and pants hung loose on his frame, but it was still him.

Finally, the scarred, broken heart in Phil’s chest began to beat again, pounding against his ribs.  _ Oh, God _ . It was  _ Clint _ .

“Holy shit, is that you, Hawkeye?” Trip said in a rush, lowering his gun.

“Surprise,” Clint said sardonically, his voice a rough rasp.

“Shit, man,” Trip said. “Next time call ahead or something, so I don’t almost shoot you.”

“I’ll remember that,” Clint replied, and there was something dark in his tone that made Phil’s chest ache.

Trip glanced between Phil and Clint, as if suddenly noticing the thick tension running between them. Or maybe he was just reflecting that Hawkeye had been Phil’s asset for years, but either way, he nodded back towards their commandeered bedrooms. “Well, if it’s just you breaking in tonight, I’ll go reset the sensors and hit the sack,” Trip said. “And maybe warn Daisy that we’re not under attack.”

Phil nodded. “Thank you, Trip,” he said.

Neither he nor Clint moved as Trip disappeared with a nod. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating with everything between them, so different from the easy quiet they’d once shared. Phil had no idea what to say. There was nothing in his head aside from the loud, tripping beat of his heart.

Clint nodded once, although at what, Phil couldn’t tell. When he moved to walk past Phil, Phil reached out and caught him mid-step, his hand wrapping around Clint’s forearm. The feel of Clint, solid and alive, beneath his palm was both too much and not enough. Yet, the touch was  _ real _ , tangible in a way Phil had half-believed Clint would never be again. “ _ Clint _ …” he breathed, the rest of his words catching in his throat as he drank in the sight of the man before him.

Clint twisted and before Phil could blink, Clint was slamming him back into the wall. Phil grunted with the impact, but he bit down on the instinct to lash out. Instead, he watched as Clint’s eyes flew wide and he immediately dropped his grip on Phil and took three large steps back. “Sorry, sorry,” Clint said. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said, as soothingly as he could. “Clint, it’s okay.”

Clint chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “No,” he said. “It’s really not.”

Pain pierced Phil’s chest. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Things are pretty fucked, aren’t they?”

Phil had been intending to break the ice, maybe ease the tension, but Clint only hunched his shoulders, curling forward as if to protect himself, and his gaze fixed on the floor.  _ Fuck _ . Phil wanted to reach out and haul Clint in, wrap his arms around Clint and maybe give into the tears building behind his eyelids, but he didn’t think any of that would be welcome.

He cleared his throat. “Clint…”

“Look, can we just… do this later?” Clint said, glancing up, but still refusing to meet Phil’s eyes. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere over Phil’s left shoulder. “I promise I’m not going anywhere, I just… I’m pretty tired.”

“Yes. Of course,” Phil said. He kept his face as blank as he could manage. “I’ll get you some blankets, and we have plenty of empty rooms you can use. You can take your pick.”

Aware that he was babbling, Phil clamped his jaw shut. Clint was clearly hurting, and he didn’t need Phil being all emotional. Motioning for Clint to follow him, Phil gathered some spare blankets and a pillow, and showed Clint to one of the still furnished bunkrooms. He tried not to hover, but he was also unwilling to let Clint out of his sight, just in case Clint vanished like he had in Phil’s dreams. There was a pressure building in Phil’s chest that he had no idea how to deal with, so he swallowed it down and kept his eyes on Clint.

“Thanks,” Clint said, nodding to the room.

Phil nodded back, reluctant to leave, particularly when Clint looked so lost, hugging the spare blankets to his chest. “I’ll be around if you need me,” he said.

The next words were hard to say, but Phil forced them out. “So is Trip,” he added, just in case  _ Phil _ was the reason for the lingering awkwardness. “I’ll, umm… I should leave you to it.”

It took Phil a moment to make his legs move, his every step away from Clint heavy and aching. Clint was silent as he watched Phil leave.

Somehow, Phil made it back to his room, and he managed to close the door before his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. His breath shuddered in and out of his chest, a hurricane of emotion swirling through him. Intense relief warred with heartbreaking reality, the image of Clint’s bleak gaze hovering behind Phil’s closed eyes.  _ Oh, God _ . Phil had been yearning and hoping to see Clint ever since he’d woken up after Loki, but nowhere in his dreams and fantasies had he understood what that would  _ mean _ .

Sucking in another shaky breath, Phil tried to calm down. Falling apart would help nothing, so he couldn’t, except his body seemed to have other ideas. Curling into himself, Phil pressed his face into his knees, breaths shuddering in and out of his chest.  _ Oh God _ . Phil wasn’t sure he could  _ do this _ .

A thought struck through the static in his brain -- had Clint found his voice messages? Phil could barely remember what he’d said in them now, only that he’d dialled Clint’s number when he’d been scared and needing comfort. Had he said too much? Had he confessed something he shouldn’t, and was  _ that _ why Clint was keeping his distance?

Or maybe it was arrogant to think that Phil had anything to do with it at all.

Phil hugged his knees tighter to his chest and let the silent tears fall.

<*>

Phil eased his body under the hot spray of the shower. His eyes were gritty thanks to an almost sleepless night, and a headache pounded at his temples. Pain flared across his aching body and the healing bruises from the fighting in Poland, and bitter heartbreak coiled tight within his chest, bubbling up, and reminding Phil of how he’d  _ failed  _ Clint. And Natasha. He rubbed a hand over his face, rasping against the stubble on his jaw.

Tears prickled in his eyes, so Phil turned his face into the warm water. When he’d first woken up after Loki -- after  _ dying _ \-- to Nick’s explanation, he’d had no idea of how  _ hard _ it would be to keep going. To put one boot in front of the other and remind himself that he had a duty, that Hydra was still out there and people needed his help. That he couldn’t just hide his head under a pillow and pretend it wasn’t happening.

Phil had always considered himself a practical man, but maybe he’d had some romanticism left in his soul. He hadn’t imagined that fighting Hydra would cost so much, and that slowly and systematically, life would strip him of his confidence and pride. Yet here he was, a battered old soldier who was running out of hope and the will to continue.

A tear slipped out from behind the eyes Phil had squeezed shut, and he grit his teeth against the urge to break down in sobs. Crying would get him nowhere -- it hadn’t last night -- but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep his façade up. Deep inside, his soul was screaming and Phil was terrified he was standing on the edge of giving in. He’d been holding on so that he could find Clint, and now that Clint was here, Phil’s strength to fight had vanished like smoke.

Once, Phil had never imagined he could ever be brought this low. He’d had a sense of innocence and arrogance that defeating Hydra was inevitable, because they were the  _ bad guys _ , but nothing was ever that easy. Now, it took everything he had simply to hold on. A second tear slipped out as Phil’s mental walls began to crumble again, but he stubbornly sniffed them back and wiped his face. He wasn’t going to fall apart again, because as painful as Clint’s presence had turned out to be, the alternative was unthinkable. Phil would rather watch Clint avoid him than not see Clint at all.

Finishing his shower in silence, Phil wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. He had to force himself to wipe away the steam on the mirror and actually look at his reflection. Part of Phil wanted to reach for the pride he’d once had in his appearance, but he’d left his G-man suits behind a while ago. Instead, he pulled on dark jeans and a black t-shirt, half buttoning a thick black shirt over the top, and then shrugging into a dark jacket. Even with the stubble, he looked less of a mess than he felt, so he supposed that was something.

Taking a deep breath, Phil headed for the kitchen. He needed coffee. Jemma and Bobbi were back from their time undercover, rescued by Melinda and Natasha, but he didn’t expect to find them awake. Or clustered around the kitchen in various chairs, talking to Trip and Daisy.

Natasha’s eyes snapped to his as soon as he entered. “Is it true?” she demanded. “Is Clint  _ here _ ?”

Phil nodded. “I left him to sleep in one of the old bunk rooms last night.”

Nodding, Natasha half rose from her chair. Then, seeming to think better of it, she sank back down, her gaze flicking between Phil and the door. Phil could understand, but he’d never thought he’d see Natasha so cautious.

“Coffee, sir?” Jemma said brightly, cutting through the growing tension. She held a mug out towards Phil.

“Thank you, Jemma,” Phil replied, taking it. “I'm glad to see you got out safe. Welcome back.”

Jemma sent him a smile that looked a little tight around the edges. “I’m just glad to be alive,” she said, with a chuckle. “If it hadn’t been for Agent Morse…” She glanced over at Bobbi, who frowned slightly. “Sorry, I mean  _ Bobbi _ . I mean, I don’t think I would have made it out and then who knows what would have happened?”

She let out a breath. “She’s  _ amazing _ ,” Jemma added in a loud whisper.

Phil smiled, warmed despite everything by Jemma’s undimmed enthusiasm. “That she is,” he agreed.

Bobbi cleared her throat. She was too skilled an undercover agent to be caught blushing, but she did glance away briefly. “We should debrief,” she said.

“I’ve got updates on our hunt for the senior Hydra agents, too,” Trip said.

Natasha surged to her feet. “I’ll go and see if Barton wants to join us.”

<*>

They reconvened in the newly christened Command Center, and Phil leaned up against one of the desks while Trip and Daisy set up their latest findings, and everyone else grabbed tea or coffee, or whatever else they needed. Phil had already refilled his coffee mug, but he almost wished there was something else he could do, particularly when Melinda made a beeline towards him.

“You’re not sleeping again,” she said bluntly in a low voice as she settled beside him.

Phil huffed. “I’m working on it,” he said.

Melinda nodded. “Give it time,” she told him.

Opening his mouth to reply, Phil’s attention snapped to the door when Natasha walked in, Clint trailing after her. Clint looked almost as bad as he had the night before, a large sweater hanging loose enough to slip over his hands, and his shoulders hunched inwards. He gaze darted over the room, lingering on Phil briefly, before flicking away again.

“Give him time, too,” Melinda said. “You’ve both been through a lot.”

“Yeah,” Phil said dully.

Melinda was right. He  _ did _ need to give Clint time. So he would. In the meantime, he could throw himself into helping figure out the identities of the Hydra council.

Melinda sighed heavily. “One day, you’re really going to have to deal with your problems,” she said.

Phil blinked. “I  _ am _ ,” he protested.

“You’re really not,” Melinda replied.

There wasn’t anything Phil could say to that, so Phil ignored her. Instead, he cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention now that they were all here. Keeping his expression bland, Phil swallowed down the stab of guilt when Clint just hunched further into himself, refusing to look at Phil.

“So where do we stand?” Phil asked, glancing towards Trip and Daisy.

“That’s, like, the million dollar question,” Daisy said with a snort. She tapped her Starktab screen and the map of the Hydra network appeared on the wall screen. “Okay, so, Trip and I are still ninety percent certain that these six people are the heads of Hydra. And that they’re starting to gather together.” Six black silhouettes appeared over parts of Europe. “There’s no easy answers for who these assholes are, but we think we might have some ideas, particularly counting all the intel Bobbi and Jemma managed to give us.”

Bobbi nodded. “From what Jemma and I could put together, Dr Daniel Whitehall is definitely a senior member of Hydra, if not one of the members of the council. He handles all of the terrifying R&D Hydra are into, and from the way everyone talks about him, Whitehall is definitely not his original name,” she said.

The blurry picture of a tall man with grey hair and wearing a grey three-piece suit and round, black glasses appeared on the side of the wall screen. “I’m running Whitehall through as many different facial recognition databases right now,” Daisy said, “but there’s no guarantee that will help. Not if he’s hidden his previous identity as well as we think he has.”

“Bakshi is definitely Hydra,” Bobbi continued. “He knows a lot more about Hydra’s operation than he was willing to tell anyone else, and Whitehall places a lot of trust in him.” Bobbi frowned. “Although, I got the feeling there was still a lot Bakshi  _ doesn’t _ know. I think that’s why he’s working with the guy we know as ‘Lighthouse’. All Bakshi’s contact with Lighthouse was very furtive.”

Phil frowned. He’d only been listening with half an ear as he’d watched Clint shrink further into his corner, but he forced himself to focus on the briefing. Staring at Clint wasn’t going to help anyone. “Internal politics?” he asked Bobbi.

Bobbi shrugged. “Looks like,” she agreed. “It shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that Hydra’s leadership is far from stable.”

“So if we assume Whitehall is one of the six Hydra councillors,” Phil said, narrowing his eyes as he studied the large on-screen map. “Then this ‘Lighthouse’ would be, too.”

Daisy tapped her Stark-tab again, this time a black silhouette appeared below Whitehall’s picture on the side of the screen. “That’s what we’re thinking,” she said.

“I’ve been in contact with Agent Hill,” Trip said, breaking into the explanation. “She’s still mostly dealing with Talbot, but she did have two important things we need to be aware of -- the first is that Talbot is working with the Joint Counter Terrorism Center and therefore the CIA. Particularly an agent by the name of Everett Ross.”

_ Shit _ . CIA involvement would make things difficult.

“And the second?” Phil asked.

“According to Hill’s research, and with the assistance of J.A.R.V.I.S. and Stark, she managed to find the financial backer that gave Killian the cash to fund A.I.M. A guy by the name of Baron Wolfgang von Strucker,” Trip said. “And this is where it gets creepy. Strucker has links to Cybertek, too, now that Cybertek has taken over from A.I.M. He seems to be a pretty senior member of Hydra, and I’d bet he’s involved in the council. He’s also… potentially immortal?”

“Immortal?” Bobbi echoed, eyebrows rising to her hairline. “Is that a real thing outside of vampire movies?”

“Look, I got no idea, man,” Trip muttered. “All I know is what Agent Hill passed on: that the only record she, J.A.R.V.I.S. and Stark can find of anyone called Wolfgang von Strucker was a dude born in the late nineteenth century to a Prussian noble family. And -- get this -- that same Wolfgang von Strucker joined the  _ Nazi Party _ in the 1930s.”

“ _ So _ creepy,” Daisy muttered.

Melinda frowned, glancing at Phil. “That would potentially give him a link to Hydra,” she said, because she knew Hydra’s twisted history almost as well as Phil did.

“So, what?” Bobbi said. “We’re saying that he’s another one of these council members? An immortal Nazi?”

“They’re  _ all _ Nazis,” Daisy said darkly.

“It  _ is _ theoretically possible,” Jemma said, speaking up for the first time. “Immortality, I mean. Fitz and I have been speculating on it for years, and…” She trailed off, glancing around the room. “And that doesn’t even count the potential of undocumented Inhuman powers,” she finished hurriedly.

“Right, so Immortal Dude is going on the list,” Daisy said. Another black silhouette appeared under the first. “That’s three out of six.”

“Maybe not,” Natasha said. “If Strucker is immortal and potentially one of Schmidt’s original Hydra recruits, he might operate through a proxy.”

“Schmidt?” Daisy echoed. “Wait. Do you mean  _ the Red Skull _ ?”

Bobbi cursed. “Oh,  _ shit _ ,” she interrupted. “Strucker might not be our only connection to Schmidt and World War Two. I overheard Whitehall once. He was talking about the war as if  _ he’d been there _ . And he was doing it in perfect German. I mean, there wasn’t a trace of an accent at all.”

Trip blinked. “That would explain why we can’t find any record of Whitehall before 1989.”

Phil swallowed. He needed to tell Nick what they’d put together as soon as physically possible.

“I’ll search through all the old SSR files for any information on Hydra,” Jemma said. “There’s a lot of files still stored here, and Agent Koenig has been helping me find others. Considering the efforts the SSR made in fighting Hydra during the war and afterwards, they might be able to help?”

“Good idea,” Phil agreed, and Jemma smiled faintly.

“There’s also Pierce. We haven’t mentioned him yet,” Natasha said. “He was running Hydra’s entire operation within SHIELD.” She paused, and only someone who knew her would have seen the slight waver in her expression. “The ease with which he got out of the US after the attack on the Helicarriers means he’s connected. It stands to reason he’s also a member of this council.”

“We also know Pierce was working with Ward and Garrett,” Trip said. “Ever since, uh… Agent Fury brought it up, we’ve been trying to find any sign of either Ward or Garrett, but so far there’s nothing. It’s like they vanished. Although, we’re pretty sure they’re not travelling with Pierce anymore.”

“I guess that makes four,” Daisy said, adding Pierce’s photo to the list.

“We need to talk to Jasper,” Clint interrupted in a quiet, hoarse voice.

“Jasper?” Melinda said, her gaze sharpening. “We don’t know where he is.”

“Actually, we do,” Clint said. “Well, I do.”

Straightening his shoulders, Clint explained how he’d run into Jasper in Romania and they’d started working together. A faint smile curved Phil’s lips because  _ of course _ Jasper would still be fighting, even as his heart broke for his old friend.

“There’s, uh… something else,” Clint said. He glanced towards Natasha. “It wasn’t just the two of us. James Barnes was helping us.”

“ _ Barnes _ ?” Melinda snapped, even as Natasha paled.

“The  _ Winter Soldier _ ?” Bobbi demanded.

“No,” Clint said fiercely. “ _ James _ . He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. His memories are pretty fractured, but… Hydra isn’t controlling him anymore.”

Phil briefly closed his eyes. The faint wobble in Clint’s voice proved that he wasn’t as unaffected by the talk of mind-control as he was trying to be, but the issue of James Buchanan Barnes would not be solved easily. Even if Clint was unabashedly on Barnes’ side.

“And, what? We’re just going to trust him?” Bobbi said.

Phil held up a hand as Clint opened his mouth to reply. “If Sergeant Barnes wants to help us while he rediscovers who he is, I think we should give him that chance,” he said. “But for now, I think we need to call this briefing to a close until Jasper can join us.”

Clint reluctantly met his gaze and gave a short nod.

“Good,” Phil said. “Get to it.”

<*>

Phil stayed in the Command Center for a few hours to help Trip, Bobbi and Daisy go through the intel they’d gathered, but eventually his gritty eyes and pounding head got too much for him. He slipped out, intending on heading for the kitchen for more coffee. Except, when he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway. Clint and Natasha glanced up from where they’d been having a whispered argument over one of the small tables and Phil couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding.

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his coffee mug. “I just wanted some coffee. I’ll be done in a minute.”

“No, Phil, wait,” Natasha said.

Phil hesitated, because Natasha sounded serious. She sent him a small smile and Phil swallowed, turning to busy himself with the coffee pot. He could guess what came next, what Natasha was trying to do.

Clint was  _ leaving _ . Not for good and probably not even for long, but he needed to find Jasper and bring him in, and yet the thought of Clint leaving the base hurt more than Phil was willing to admit. His grip white-knuckling his mug, Phil sagged against the counter and closed his eyes to hide his sudden tears. He was being ridiculous and he’d be damned if he’d let either Natasha or Clint see him cry.

“You know I’m coming back, right?” Clint said, suddenly standing next to Phil.

He hadn’t invaded Phil’s personal space like he used to, and the tentative way Clint was biting his lip, as if just waiting for Phil to reject him, broke the remains of Phil’s heart. Dammit, Phil was a bastard for doing this to the man he loved.

“Of course,” Phil said, clearing his throat when his voice came out hoarse.

“I  _ am _ , Phil,” Clint insisted.

The demons reflected in Clint’s eyes were Phil’s undoing. Stepping forward, he reached up to touch Clint’s cheek and tried not to care when Clint flinched. He dropped his hand and nodded to himself. “I believe you.”

Clint, jaw firming, deliberately stepped closer and reached out to grab Phil’s hand. As Phil watched silently, Clint slipped his fingers between Phil’s. “No,” he said. “You don’t. Not really, but that’s okay. I’ll prove it to you.”

Phil’s eyes flickered closed. “Okay,” he said in a broken whisper. If Clint was willing to come back, Phil would have to try to make up for how he’d failed Clint. When he opened his eyes again, he caught the sad bitterness running through Clint’s blue eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed.

<*>


	23. Clint

_ Whitehall Gardens, London _

Clint resisted the urge to stamp his feet. He’d yanked up the collar of his jacket in an attempt to combat the cold wind, but it wasn’t helping all that much. Instead, he hunched his shoulders against the cold and kept his back to the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, one curled around the hilt of a knife. This skin between his shoulder blades itched, and he had to bite back the need to check his watch. Again.

Jasper was late.

It was almost winter, which made outdoor clandestine meetings less than comfortable, even if it did give Clint an excuse to keep his hoodie pulled up over his head. His breath was clouding slightly in front of him, and the chill of the night was sinking in through his clothes the longer he stood in the shadows. Clint let out a slow breath, but his gaze never stopped moving as he scanned the deserted park again, his paranoia kicking in. It was nearly three in the morning, and no one in their right mind would be hanging around, at least, no one without a nefarious purpose, and Clint had made sure to scan the streets twice before he’d headed into the park.

His fingers twitched to reach for the battered pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but he didn’t dare follow through. Years on the streets had honed Clint’s survival skills, and he’d be damned before he made a rookie mistake like giving away his position with the burning end of a cigarette, no matter how bad his nicotine addiction.

Catching sight of another hunching figure walking through the park towards him, Clint’s grip on his knife tightened. He had a gun tucked under his jacket, too, but he’d rather not draw the kind of attention that gunshots would bring. A beat later, Clint’s shoulders relaxed. Jasper had changed his hat for a beanie and the red sweater he wore underneath his thick jacket, but it was still undeniably him. 

“Hey, Jas,” Clint called out softly, moving so that Jasper could see him.

Jasper froze, his head jerking up. “What the fuck, Barton?” he said when he caught sight of Clint. “What are you doing here?”

Clint raised both eyebrows. “Meeting you?”

Jasper scowled. “You know what I mean. I thought you’d send someone else.” He glanced away, swallowing. “Did you… find Coulson?”

Clint nodded mutely. He’d told Jasper of his resolution to seek out Phil and maybe,  _ finally _ , set things right. Surprisingly, Jasper had been really supportive of the plan, offering to stay behind with James until Clint made contact.

Jasper hesitated. “Is…?”

His stomach clenched, and Clint didn’t need Jasper to finish the question. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

Jasper nodded once, and  _ shit _ , Jasper hadn’t seen Phil since his resurrection.

“He’s, uh, healing. You know, after… everything,” Clint said. “But he’s okay.”

“Good,” Jasper said. “That’s… good.”

Clint studied Jasper. He looked haggard and there was a new bruise blooming across his jaw. Clint raised his eyebrows. “What happened to you?” he asked.

Jasper shrugged tiredly. “Never wake an ex-assassin from nightmares.”

Clint huffed. “Yeah,” he agreed. He’d learned that the hard way, too. He glanced around, not that he actually expected to spot the former Winter Soldier. “Where is James?”

Jasper shook his head. “He said he needed time,” he replied. “I think he’s not ready to see, you know…”

“Cap,” Clint finished when Jasper trailed off. Clint didn’t blame James for that. He could understand the impulse. He smiled wryly.

“He picked my brain for everything about Hydra,” Jasper added softly. “There’s some other stuff, too, but it’s probably best if I tell everyone at once.”

Clint nodded and breathed out.

“He wants to recover his memories,” Jasper said. “On his own. But he’s given me a number in case we need him, and he’s got mine.”

Clint nodded again. “I guess that makes this easier then. Come on.”

Jasper breathed out. “Yeah. Guess it’s time to pay the piper, huh?”

Closing his eyes, Clint huffed. “Nah,” he said. “But it might be time to stop trying to do all of this on our own.”

<*>

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

When they made it back to the bunker, Clint retreated back to the room he’d claimed for his own. He wasn’t really in the mood to watch Jasper’s tearful reunions with everyone. Clint couldn’t begrudge Jasper that, not after Jasper’s stint undercover with  _ Hydra _ , and well,  _ everything _ to do with Phil. But it did remind Clint how he hadn’t exactly done the same. He might have come back, but he was still keeping his distance and putting up walls to keep everyone away.

And now Clint couldn’t sleep, which really shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. The last few days had been overwhelming. For all that he’d made the decisions to come back, actually  _ doing it _ had been harder than Clint had ever expected. Phil wasn’t the man Clint remembered, but that was okay, because neither was Clint. Even so, Clint’s heart tugged in his chest, because Phil looked so  _ haunted _ . By his resurrection or by Clint’s presence Clint wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.

Neither helped the clawing guilt in Clint’s stomach, because he might have made the decision to stop running, but now--

Now Clint had no idea what to do. He was filled with conflicting urges to beg for Phil’s forgiveness and yell at Phil for being so stupid and going after Loki alone. Or maybe he just wanted to gather Phil up in his arms and not let go.

Retreating to the roof of the building above the old abandoned station and the SSR bunker beneath it, Clint breathed in a lungful of cool air. It was soothing, even filled with the sounds of London at night. Clint crept up to the edge of the roof and slid his legs under the railing as he sat down. Just for a moment, the position reminded him so viscerally of his time at Pegasus that Clint had to squeeze his eyes shut and breathe in shakily.  _ Shit _ .

Leaning forward, Clint pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the middle railing. Dwelling on the last time Clint had seen Phil before Loki and the battle and everything getting fucked up wasn’t going to help. Not that anything was really going to help, except maybe shooting a few more Hydra fuckers in the face.

A shiver slid down Clint’s spine, but he didn’t move. He’d lost time to the thoughts swirling through his mind, because his body was a little stiff as he sat back and fixed his gaze on the London streets below.  The soft, even footsteps behind him that had drawn him out of his thoughts, but then Phil wasn’t trying to hide. Clint supposed he should have been expecting Phil to find him. Phil had always been good at that.

The silence stretched out, jangling on Clint’s nerves as Phil hovered behind him, as if unsure of his welcome. Clint didn’t like it. “There’s that quote,” he said softly, his voice rough. He kept his gaze fixed on the view below. “By a writer. I forget who, but it goes ‘show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy’. It seems kind of fitting, don’t you think?”

Phil settled beside him at the rail, careful to keep a few inches of distance between them. Clint didn’t blame him, not after Clint had shied away from his touch so many times, but it still cut like a knife. “F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Phil said quietly. He turned to study Clint. Clint could feel the weight of Phil’s eyes. Normally, Clint would have tossed out a smart ass comment or a joke, but he was too exhausted. Too stripped down and raw.

“It doesn’t have to be a tragedy, Clint,” Phil said quietly.

“You sure about that?” he replied, some of the pain and bitterness shining through his words.

Very carefully, Phil reached out and deliberately covered Clint’s white-knuckled grip with his own. It was only a small touch, but the warmth bleeding through Clint’s skin rocked him to the core. He turned wide eyes on Phil. As he watched, the corner of Phil’s mouth ticked up, barely a movement. “We’re still breathing,” Phil said.

The breath was punched out of Clint with the sound of a laugh mixed with a sob. His own words from years before, when he’d been little more than a two-bit mercenary, echoed back. “Yeah. I guess we are,” he agreed.

Phil studied him and the familiar concern in that blue gaze made Clint’s eyes burn with tears. “Shit,” Clint said, pressing a hand to his face.

The warm weight of Phil’s hand rested on Clint’s shoulder in reassurance, but it was too much. “Sorry,” Clint muttered. “I can’t--”

“Of course, Clint,” Phil said, dropping his hand, his eyes crinkling in understanding.

Fuck, why did Phil have to do that? “I need…” Clint squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry,” he said raggedly.

Then he turned and fled back inside.

<*>

Clint was a  _ coward _ .

A coward and a moron. He should have stayed on that roof last night, with Phil, instead of running away. But when the guilt and the grief had risen up to choke him, he’d run away like a scared kid.

Snorting, Clint slammed his fist into the soft padding of the punching bag. He might not be good for much anymore, but this he could do. Anger and frustration burned deep in the pit of his stomach, and venting them through a bit of controlled violence had seemed better than staring up at a blank ceiling. Even if punching things until his knuckles bled probably wasn’t the best way to deal with the anger curling through his stomach.

Clint punched the bag again, hard, his fist stinging. He’d wrapped his hands before he’d started, but he’d been hitting things for long enough that it wasn’t making much difference anymore. The t-shirt he wore was plastered to his back and sweat stung his eyes, but none of that was inclined to make Clint stop.

Footsteps entering the makeshift gym echoed behind him, but Clint didn’t spare whoever it was a glance. Instead, he snapped out a kick, followed by a vicious knee, that sent the bag swinging. Unfortunately, Clint’s guest didn’t seem to take the hint, because Clint felt the itch of their staring right between his shoulder blades. After getting in another couple of hard hits, Clint turned, his expression filled with cold anger and his chest heaving as he tried to calm his breathing. “What?” he snapped.

Bobbi Morse arched an eyebrow back at him, her hands folded across her chest as she leaned back against the wall, still studying him. “Who pissed you off?” Bobbi asked.

Clint scowled, because he wasn’t really in the mood. “Who hasn’t?” he replied. “Now go away. I’m busy.”

“Busy punching the crap out of a bag?” Bobbi replied, her tone still infuriatingly mild.

“Yes,” Clint answered flatly.

Bobbi arched her eyebrow again, but made no move to leave. Clint’s ugly temper reared up again, but he clenched his teeth to keep it in. Bobbi didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it, although if she kept it up with the staring, she might find herself on the wrong end of it anyway. “Seriously, Morse,” he growled. “Leave me alone.”

Bobbi pushed herself away from the wall, straightening up. “No.”

Taking a deep breath, Clint ignored her. It was better than saying something he might regret later. Rolling his shoulders, he concentrated on hitting the bag and not on Bobbi’s presence, but he still blinked in shock when Bobbi’s hand appeared on his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Bobbi always had been fast when she’d wanted. Concern had softened her blue eyes, and she never let go of Clint’s arm, not letting him simply turn back to venting his anger and frustrations on the punching bag.

“Okay,” Bobbi said. “Want to hit something a lot harder than that bag?”

Clint gave a bitter laugh and closed his eyes for a beat. “Sure,” he said.

They separated long enough for Bobbi to pad up, and Clint had to admit, sparring with Bobbi was a much better outlet than just hitting a bag. The fight was hard and fast, and as run down as he was, Clint really wasn’t a match for Bobbi. It only took her about ten minutes before she took Clint down to the mats, but Clint made sure to bring her with him as he fell. She crashed into his chest, her legs straddling his hips and her hands on his wrists, holding them down.

“Well, this brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Bobbi said with a smirk.

It really did. Clint closed his eyes, the anger suddenly leaving him. He and Bobbi had slept together on and off over the years, and the sex had always been good. It would be easy to give in to that temptation now and Bobbi might even let him, but it wasn’t what Clint  _ really _ wanted.

“Yeah, I get it,” Bobbi said, and suddenly her hands let go of Clint’s wrists. “I’m not the one you want.”

“Bobbi,” Clint growled, opening his eyes.

“Are you ever going to talk to him?” Bobbi interrupted, moving to let Clint up. “Tell him how you feel?”

Clint scowled, because he couldn’t pretend to misunderstand who she was talking about. Frustrated, he climbed to his feet jerkily. “And why are you so sure you know what's running through my head, Morse?" he snapped, turning his back to her.

“Clint,” she said gently. Her shoes scuffed the mats as she climbed to her feet, and Clint didn’t startle when she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you so angry with him? It wasn’t his fault…”

“You think I don’t  _ know that _ ?” Clint yelled, spinning around to face her. “You think I don’t know  _ exactly  _ whose fault it is that Phil  _ died _ ?”

Bobbi frowned, but her eyes were sympathetic. “Staying angry at Loki isn’t going to help, either,” she said.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, because she didn’t get it. Or maybe she did, and she was pretending to misunderstand. Bobbi always had been super smart. Either way, it didn’t change anything. “It was  _ my _ fault, Bobbi,” he whispered.

“No, it wasn’t,” Bobbi snapped. “It was Loki’s. And a little bit of Phil’s, because he was the idiot who faced down a psychotic alien for a chance to get you back. But it  _ wasn’t _ your fault, Clint. None of what happened was your fault.”

Clint sucked in a shuddering breath. Everyone kept telling him that, but it did nothing to mute the sickening guilt. It had been  _ his _ hands that had killed,  _ his _ plan that had caused so much destruction.

_ His _ fault that Phil had been forced to go up against Loki alone.

He breathed out slowly. “So what do I do?” he whispered.

Bobbi stepped up and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Talk to Phil,” she said. “He’s hurting just as much as you are.”

Clint closed his eyes, an echo of the voice messages Phil had left him drifting through his head. “Yeah.” He glanced at Bobbi. “I’ll try.”

Bobbi nodded. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

<*>

Clint glanced up from his book at the shy knock on his door. He debated answering, because anyone who knocked was not Natasha, but he’d eventually have to leave the barricades of his room for food, so he couldn’t put off talking to people forever. At least in that way, the bunker was pretty cool. The SSR might have bugged out in a hurry, but they’d left a lot of things behind -- blankets and pillows, running water and what passed for a pile of trashy 1940s fiction.

Whoever was at his door knocked again. Clint sighed. “Yeah?”

The young, dark-haired woman from the briefing stuck her head around the door. She wore a loose grey sweater and her brown hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. She watched him with curious brown eyes and gave Clint a little wave. “Hi,” she said.

Clint filtered through all of the descriptions Natasha had given him on the new faces working with them -- and the old ones no longer on their side. Although, considering Phil trusted her, Clint doubted that she was some sort of Hydra double agent.

“Daisy, right?” he asked. “The agent formerly known as Skye?”

Daisy wrinkled her nose and frowned. “You know, one day, I’m going to stop being surprised that everyone on this base is a superspy.”

Clint’s lips curled up into the ghost of a smile. “That’s SHIELD for you.” He swallowed, his smile fading because, no, things weren’t like that anymore. “Well, it used to be,” he said, clearing his throat. “So what can I do for you?”

Daisy raised a thumb over her shoulder. “Fury’s here and he’s called a briefing. I thought you might want to be there?”

Clint blinked. Nick was here? He must have slipped into the bunker with an unusual lack of fanfare. It was  _ weird _ . Maybe no less fucked up than Hydra being at the heart of SHIELD, or fucking  _ aliens _ in New York City, but enough to raise the hair on the back of Clint’s arms. “Yeah, uh. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Daisy replied. “I was curious about you, anyway. I wanted to meet the guy who keeps making Coulson all broody.”

His eyes widening, Clint stared at her. “What?”

Daisy ducked her head, suddenly not meeting Clint’s gaze. “I was the one that found the footage of you breaking out of that place in Alaska,” she said quietly. “When I showed Coulson, he went all pale. I was scared he was going to have a panic attack or something.” She glanced up again. “He cares about you a lot, you know.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise after the voicemails, but somehow it was. Clint cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot together.” He closed his eyes, but somehow confessing the truth to Daisy was easier because he didn’t really know her. “I care about him a lot, too.”

“That’s a good thing,” Daisy said quietly. “I mean, I know things are pretty fucked up for you right now, but that just means you should remind yourself of all the good stuff, right?”

Clint glanced at Daisy’s wide, hopeful eyes. She wasn’t as naive as her words might seem, because there was a wryly intelligent gleam in the back of that gaze. Clint nodded. “Yeah.”

Daisy smiled. “Sooo… you coming to the debrief? There’s coffee.”

“Sure,” Clint said dryly, because he had the feeling Daisy wouldn’t just let this go. “Why not?”

“Great,” Daisy replied. “Let’s go.”

<*>

Clint forced himself not to freeze in his tracks as every eye in the room locked onto him. An itch started up underneath his skin, and Clint’s grip tightened on his coffee mug. Natasha was standing next to Phil, who was looking exhausted, stubble on his jaw and deep, purple shadows under his eyes. Bobbi, Jemma and Agent Triplett had cut off whatever conversation they were having at Clint’s entrance, now standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, and by the large screen on the wall, Jasper was flanked by both Fury and Melinda May. At least Jasper looked better -- he’d shaved off the beard, even if his familiar glasses hadn’t made a reappearance.

“Barton,” Fury greeted, something thick and indecipherable in his voice.

“Fury,” Clint replied with a wary nod.

Jasper snorted. “Well, you still look like shit, Hawk,” he said, breaking the sudden tension.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Fury looked like he needed a week of sleep and a decent meal or three. Clint couldn’t imagine what Fury had been through since the fall of SHIELD, and there was a large part of him that never wanted to find out. If only because the story would no doubt be horrifying.

Clint let a corner of his mouth turn up. “At least I don’t look like you,” he said.

“Funny,” Jasper said dryly, narrowing his eyes.

Thankfully, Clint’s attempt at humour had broken what was left of the thick tension, although when he glanced over at Phil, Phil looked haunted. Clint swallowed. This was hardly the place to focus on repairing his relationship with Phil, so Clint straightened his shoulders. “Daisy said you wanted to have a briefing? I assume this is where we all compare notes about where we’ve been and what we’ve been doing?” he said.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” Fury agreed, with a glimmer of his former humour.

Swallowing again, Clint summarized what had happened since he and Natasha had broken out of the WSC facility in Alaska. He didn’t include all of the details -- Phil’s messages, or his drinking -- but he made sure to mention S.T.R.I.K.E. and Rumlow, and Sergeant Barnes’ reappearance. Clint had already told them some of it, but somehow, laid out as succinctly as possible, everything felt overwhelming. At times, Clint had to clear his throat to force the words out, and after Phil’s face blanched, Clint tried not to look at him just in case Phil’s guilt and grief made it too hard to voice the rest of it.

“Well,  _ shit _ ,” Fury said when Clint was done.

Clint chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah.”

“The rest of it isn’t much better,” Fury said. “As I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Clint nodded, because he had. 

Phil stepped forward, his eyes cutting to Clint and darting away again. “We’re still analyzing the information Jasper gave us from his time undercover with Hydra to help identify Hydra’s ruling council, and unfortunately we haven’t made much progress in tracking where Garrett and Ward have gone, either,” he said. “Bakshi has been sighted in several new places and right now we’re speculating that he’s making contact with Lighthouse again.”

Fury frowned. “Where, exactly?” he asked.

“Berlin, mostly,” Trip answered. “He didn’t stay long before returning to Whitehall’s labs.”

“I’ll put the word out,” Fury said. “There’s a few SHIELD agents lying low nearby. I’ll see if they can pick anything up.”

The rest of the briefing turned towards rehashing information Clint had already heard, so he faded into the background. Yet, try as he might, his gaze kept sliding back to Phil and the tension knotting his shoulders. With the flaming wreckage of his life still surrounding them, could they ever fight their way back to what they’d been? Salvage the friendship and the feelings? Did Phil even want to?

Clint had crawled his way out of the burning remains of his life before, both when he’d been left behind by his brother and the circus, and then again when he’d turned his back on being Hawkeye the mercenary. He could probably do it again. Every time he did, it required a greater sacrifice, but as he watched Phil, he figured it was worth it.

_ Phil _ was worth it.

<*>

Two hours later, Clint was back on the roof, halfway through the remains of his battered pack of cigarettes. He wasn’t surprised when Natasha sat down beside him. It had only been a matter of time, really.

“So,” Natasha said quietly.

“So,” Clint agreed, blowing out a plume of smoke.

Natasha  was the Black Widow, trained to be transmutable, but Clint had worked out how to see through her. “Want to talk about it?” she said, and yep, there it was.

“Not really,” Clint replied.

“Clint,” Natasha said, shifting to face him. “You can’t keep torturing yourself like this.”

“Nat,” Clint rasped, trying to swallow past the lump suddenly lodged in his throat. He drew in a shuddering breath. “Don’t.  _ Please _ .”

Natasha closed her eyes, her body shifting subtly until her shoulders curved and her spine lost a little of its straightness. “I don’t want to hurt you, Clint, but you can’t keep going like this.” She opened her eyes, and they were bright with tears. She reached out to cup Clint’s cheek. “Neither can Phil. You both deserve so much more than you’re settling for.”

Clint slumped forward to press his forehead against hers. “I don’t know how,” he said.

“Stop avoiding Phil and go from there,” Natasha replied.

Clint huffed out a laugh, leaning back. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“No,” Natasha said. “I don’t know why you still try.”

Swallowing, Clint closed his eyes and let himself lean against Natasha. Just for a moment. “What about you?” he asked when the silence got too much and started pressing in on him. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“Not really,” Natasha said.

Clint glanced at her. Natasha’s skin was a shade too pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes, but her expression was calm. She raised an eyebrow when she caught Clint watching.

“Not like that.” She turned to stare out over London. “I can see what Phil always saw in Steve Rogers, now. He has a way of making you re-examine your life.”

“Nat…” Clint started, but he had no idea what else to say.

“It’s okay,” Natasha interrupted. “I’m not turning into an idealistic soldier, but I  _ am _ more than just the Black Widow. Maybe it’s time I decided what that ‘more’ is.”

Clint blew out a breath. Understanding resonated through him, tugging at the swirling storm of emotions in his chest. “Nat, you’ve  _ always _ been more than just the Black Widow,” he said fervently, willing Natasha to believe him. “You’re loyal to those you trust, even when it hurts you, you have a wicked sense of humour and you’re frankly annoyingly cheerful when you’re awake before five am. You watch every piece of sci fi you can, even if it’s bad, and borrow all of my trashy romance novels to read -- and then leave funny little pictures in the margins of all the sex bits.”

Blinking back sudden tears, Clint stared into Natasha’s wide gaze. “You’re my best friend, Nat. And not because of who someone else made you, but because of who  _ you _ are.”

When Natasha leaned forward, Clint pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Jasper was right. Clint needed to stop wallowing in all the bad shit that had happened to him and start  _ being there _ for those he loved.

“Thanks, Clint,” Natasha murmured, her face pressed into his shoulder.

Clint kissed her hair. “Always.”

<*>

It took Clint another day of his avoidance of Phil before even  _ he _ was going crazy. So far Natasha hadn’t taken things into her own hands, which  frankly was better than Clint expected, but maybe she’d decided to go easy on him. Either way, being cooped up in the bunker was making Clint want to climb the walls, and he needed to get out.

His feet took him towards Phil’s room before he could stop them, and after cracking open the door, Clint glanced in. For once, Phil was sleeping like the dead. No, fuck. Clint’s mind shied away from the analogy. Phil  _ had _ been dead, and Clint was still very determinedly  _ not thinking about it _ .

He’d slipped silently back out, and unable to stay still any longer, Clint decided to head out for a run. He pulled on a loose hoodie, dragging the hood up to shadow his face, and left a note for Natasha just in case she checked in on him while he was gone. The cool morning air helped clear his head, as did the rhythmic beat of his sneakers on the concrete pavement, and it was somehow soothing to watch the dim light grow with sunrise as the streets of London woke up.

Unfortunately, it  _ didn’t _ really help Clint’s chaotic thoughts. He wasn’t exactly thinking rationally most of the time these days, and the more he watched Phil out of the corner of his eye, the worse it got. Seeing Phil so vulnerable was tilting the remains of Clint’s world on its axis and he wasn’t sure how to react. Clint had  _ always _ known how human Phil was underneath the suit and the calm mask, and back at SHIELD, all that had done was reinforce just how strong and capable Phil was, how much Phil could take in stride before things got to him.

Yet, now… Now, Phil was struggling just as much as Clint, his armour cracked and stripped away. Watching Phil try not to cry had been like lobbing a grenade at Clint’s emotional barriers. He wanted to gather Phil in his arms and shoulder his burdens for a while, but Clint was barely keeping his own footing and he wasn’t sure he had the strength.

By the time Clint slipped back into the bunker, the t-shirt under his hoodie was soaked with sweat and his legs were burning. He ducked down the corridor, heading towards his chosen bedroom, and he was in the middle of pulling off his hoodie when he heard a choked off shout coming from Phil’s room.

He was through the door in an instant, heart tripping in his chest. “Phil?”

Clint caught one of Phil’s flailing arms before it could hit him as Phil’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving like he’d been sprinting for his life and his face pale. “Hey, Phil, you’re okay,” Clint whispered, and for once his tongue didn’t stumble over the words. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“Clint?” Phil rasped, his voice deep and gravelly, and his eyes slightly unfocused when they turned to look at Clint.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Clint said softly. “I’m here.”

Instead of responding, Phil just curled towards Clint, his body shaking uncontrollably. Biting back a curse, Clint immediately gathered Phil into his arms, yanking the blankets with him when he felt Phil’s skin was icy to the touch. “Hey, Phil, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

Phil buried his face in Clint’s shoulder, his breathing ragged. Clint’s arms tightened instinctively around him when he felt Phil’s silent tears dampening the material of his t-shirt. This was more than just Phil in the grip of a nightmare, and Clint felt his own tears prickle his eyes. Phil had always been so strong, and to see Phil in such a moment of weakness was almost Clint’s undoing.

“You can let go if you need to,” he whispered, because if Phil needed someone to hold him while he fell apart, Clint could do that. “I’m here. I don’t mind.”

Phil pushed away, tears brightening his blue eyes. “No, I can’t,” he said brokenly and the words cut Clint deeper than he’d thought possible. “I can’t let go. I have to be strong.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Clint asked before he could stop himself. “No one can be strong all the time, Phil. And really, who am I going to tell?”

He swallowed down a bitter laugh and the stab of pain at the thought that maybe Phil  _ didn’t _ trust him anymore.

“No, it’s not that, it’s not…” Phil scrubbed at his face. “I  _ do _ trust you, Clint.” He shut his eyes as another tear spilled over. “But everyone’s relying on me, so I can’t fall apart.  _ You’re _ relying on me. I have to…”

Clint pulled Phil in tighter as he cursed in his head, like somehow Clint’s arms could protect Phil from his own noble impulses. “ _ Phil _ ,” he said hoarsely, a wave of  _ love _ bursting through his insides. “You are one of the strongest people I have ever met, but don’t think that even for a second, you can’t have moments of weakness, too. You’re  _ human _ , and that means you can be as flawed as the rest of us.”

Phil drew in a ragged breath. “Yes, but the great Agent Coulson isn’t human. He can’t afford to be,” he muttered darkly.

Empathy, grief and disbelief rioted through Clint’s chest, but he shoved them all down. Phil was  _ unbelievable _ . He wanted to call bullshit. He’d seen Phil battered, bruised and exhausted, he’d seen Phil bleeding from bullet wounds and before his morning coffee. There was no doubt, to Clint, that Phil was human.

“Phil…” he said.

“No,” Phil interrupted, leaning back. “Nick brought me back for a  _ reason _ .” The pain reflected in Phil’s blue eyes echoed behind Clint’s ribs. “I already failed once, failed you and Natasha…”

Phil squeezed his eyes shut and with a muffled curse, Clint pulled Phil back into his arms. To see Phil so lost and vulnerable was more painful than Clint could have imagined. Yet, Phil had  _ always _ been human underneath the suit and the reputation, and Clint couldn’t help the warmth that flooded him that Phil still trusted him enough to see this.

Clint hugged him tight and ran a hand along Phil’s back in a slow, soothing circle. He felt awkward and unsure, and very conscious of how he was still sweaty after his run. Not that Phil seemed to care. Clint wasn’t sure how long they sat there until Phil’s sobs quietened, but it was long enough for Clint’s calf to cramp at the uncomfortable position. Clint wondered if Phil had given himself a chance to vent any of this since he’d woken up.  _ Probably not _ . Phil was incredibly stubborn.

When Phil finally pulled back, his eyes were red. He wiped at his tears, not looking at Clint. “Sorry,” he said, fingering the damp patch on Clint’s t-shirt.

Clint shrugged, forcing a half-smile onto his face, as much at a loss of what to do with Phil’s apology as he was dealing with Phil’s tears. Clint had never been great with emotions. Natasha could attest to that.  “Don’t mention it,” he replied.

Reaching up, Clint brushed away the trails of tears still falling down Phil’s cheeks, trying not to focus on the way Phil leaned into the touch. He blinked back the tears in his own eyes and swallowed heavily. Maybe it would be better if he let everything out, but right now Phil needed him and there was something Clint  _ had _ to say. “Listen to me, Phil: you didn’t fail me. Me or Nat,” he whispered. “If anything,  _ I _ failed  _ you _ .”

“Don’t you dare,” Phil snapped, pulling back enough to fix Clint with a fierce glare. “It  _ is not _ and never was  _ your fault _ .” He softened the glare, glancing away as he straightened his shoulders, and fuck, that was Phil bracing himself to say something Clint probably didn’t want to hear. “I still need to apologize, Clint. I might not have… been there when you were taken by the WSC, but I should have tried harder to find you when I woke up. I should have made you my first priority, and I didn’t.”

Clint snorted, and closed his eyes against a wave of bitter anger. “Maybe I don’t want you to be my self appointed protector, Phil,” he snapped.

Phil went still, just for a second, but no matter what had happened to both of them, Clint could still read all of Phil’s tells. He let out a sigh and blinked open his eyes. “Not like that,” he said.

“Barton,” Phil began. He was trying for his bland Agent Coulson mask, but ever since his resurrection, that mask had had a giant crack running down the middle. The red eyes and tracks of his recent tears didn’t help, either.

“Phil,” Clint interrupted. His heartbeat picked up speed, but this was one of those now or never moments Natasha kept warning him about. “Did you ever think I didn’t want you to watch over me from afar? That maybe I want you standing right beside me instead?” Clint watched him, catching the hope and disbelief shimmering through the cracks in Phil’s mask.

“No, uh, I guess it didn’t,” Phil said.

Clint snorted. There was more than needed to be said, but now wasn’t the time. Not with Phil still in the grips of his guilt and Clint, well, Clint wasn’t exactly at his best either. With a sigh, he stood up and hid a wince as his cramped calf muscle spasmed painfully. Even so, he caught the flash of vulnerability that crossed Phil’s face as he got up. “I’m going to grab a shower,” Clint said gently.

Phil shrugged, back to not looking at him. “Okay,” he said.

Clint sighed inwardly. He owed Natasha her body weight in chocolate if this was half as bad as how he acted most of the time. “You don’t sound convinced of that,” he said.

Phil glanced up, his face a polite mask and Clint remembered him being much better at lying. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“No,” Clint replied. “I’m pretty sure it’s something.”

“I just…” Phil toyed with the edges of his blankets. “I don’t want you to feel obligated, Clint, but… well, I would rather not be alone right now.”

Clint sucked in a shuddering breath. Phil’s gaze snapped to his, but Clint narrowed his eyes before Phil could launch into another set of excuses. “I really need that shower, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” he said.

Phil sent him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well,” Clint said, shrugging. What else could he do? He met Phil’s gaze. Something big and terrifying was lodged in his throat, but he wasn’t brave enough to voice it. Not yet. “It’s not exactly a hardship. It never was.”

Phil nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and somehow that one word lifted part of the crushing weight that had been pushing down on Clint’s shoulders.

Hope lit Clint’s chest. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d feared. He offered Phil a smile as he ducked out of Phil’s room, and as small as it was, for once the expression actually felt like it belonged there.

<*>


	24. Nick

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Nick breathed out slowly, but it did little to ease the sailor’s worth of knots in his back. His shoulders ached with a dull throbbing, and a low level headache pounded inside his skull, but the pain had nothing on the burning inside his chest. Hydra was only growing stronger, SHIELD was still in fractured pieces, and all Nick could focus on was that Jasper was  _ back _ . Maybe he wasn’t entirely safe, and maybe Jasper was worn down and ragged around the edges, but he was  _ here _ . Nick would take what he could get.

There was precious little of that as it was.

Nick would need to move on from London soon, because there were things that needed doing, particularly if Talbot had joined forces with Everett Ross and the Joint Counter Terrorist Center. He just didn’t want to. Both Jasper and Melinda were in London, and Nick’s heart ached at the thought of leaving them, but duty came first. It always had. And with the world in danger, Nick couldn’t afford to put  _ anything _ above his duty to stop Hydra, once and for all.

Maybe after he had, if he was lucky, there would be time for other things.

Giving up on his attempts at sleep, which were going nowhere, Nick pulled on jeans and a sweater and headed to the bunker’s command center. He didn’t entirely expect to see anyone, but he still wasn’t surprised to see Daisy drinking coffee and hunched over her laptop. She glanced up as Nick walked in, her eyes widening slightly. Nick waved a hand at her before she could leap to conclusions. “It’s all right, Agent,” he said. “I just couldn’t sleep, so I decided to try and be useful.”

“Yes, sir,” Daisy replied, which was probably the most deferential he’d ever heard her.

He raised his eyebrows. “Should I start suspecting you’re up to no good?” he asked.

Daisy’s smile was a quick flash across her face before it faded. She glanced at him hesitantly, her shoulders hunched under her oversized sweater and her fingers fidgeting with the sleeves. “It’s not exactly no good,” she said, “but I was trying to find information about my father.”

Nick had heard about what Ward had said and some of Daisy’s worries from Melinda. He could see what both Phil and Melinda liked about Daisy, and he’d been more than a little amused at how much Melinda had taken Daisy under her wing. Not that he’d said as much, because he wasn’t stupid. It was good to see Melinda losing a little of her reserve again, though, and Nick was well aware that Daisy was one of the biggest reasons for that.

“It’s just while I’m waiting to see if my facial recognition software comes up with anything,” Daisy added. “I know it’s not exactly what I should be focusing on, but I’m not neglecting my duties.”

“You don’t need to convince me, Daisy,” Nick said. “I get it.” He paused, letting out a breath and decided to go with his gut. It rarely failed him. “Just, do me a favour and remember one thing. No matter what you find, no matter what someone like Ward says.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Who you are, Skye or Daisy or someone else, is who  _ you _ choose to be. No one else.”

Daisy swallowed, her throat bobbing. “I will,” she said. “I promise.” She offered him a smile. “Although, I’m pretty sure you’re one of the people that get to choose whether I’m a SHIELD agent. SHIELD recruit? Am I even officially an agent?”

Nick huffed. “Oh, you’re definitely an agent, no matter how official the paperwork is,” he told her. “Otherwise both Phil and Melinda will kick my ass.”

Daisy ducked her head. “I owe them both a lot,” she said. “They’ve taught me so much.” She glanced up. “So have you.”

Nick shook his head, even as he was warmed by her words. “Neither Phil, Melinda or I did anything except bring out what was already there, Daisy,” he said. “Everything you’ve done is because of your own choices. All we did was help you learn a few skills.”

Her eyes wide, Daisy stared at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re very welcome, Agent Johnson,” Nick replied.

Finding some free space not occupied by random tech or intelligence, Nick commandeered a spare Starktab. He settled in with a sigh, and brought up the latest additions to their intelligence on the mysterious Hydra Council. Nick  _ hated _ knowing so little about them, because if they were going to cut off the head of the serpent, as it were, those were the six they needed to target. Hopefully chopping them all off at once would stop Hydra growing any more, but Nick wasn’t sure they’d be that lucky.

Of course, there was nothing ground-shakingly new to go over, and no new clues on the identities of the unknown Hydra heads. They’d hidden their tracks damn well, and the gall of it still set Nick’s teeth on edge. Having Hydra growing  _ inside _ SHIELD was a personal insult to everything Nick stood for, and he wasn’t about to let them win. Not now, not  _ ever _ .

Although, it did lead to the question of  _ how _ ? How had Hydra managed it?

Starting small, within the group of scientists recruited by Operation Paperclip after World War Two would only have worked for a while. Hydra would have needed to recruit field agents, technicians and communications specialists to their twisted cause. And they would have needed infrastructure. At its peak before the collapse, SHIELD had possessed a  _ lot _ of infrastructure. It wouldn’t have been too hard for the Hydra sleeper agents to gain enough control and take over, except if they were using any of SHIELD’s main bases, why weren’t they doing  _ more _ with them?

Thanks to Agent Weaver, the Academy was safe, and Agent Hand had managed to secure the Hub, but SHIELD would have been a very poor intelligence organisation if the loss of two bases could cripple it. They had back ups and regional command centres everywhere. If it hadn’t been for their compromised communications network, Nick would have been using them. In fact, when it came to back ups and redundancies, why had Zola’s twisted computer clone not had any?

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” Nick breathed.

He’d been so  _ stupid _ .

If Hydra had missed the network of old SSR bases he and Phil were exploiting, maybe Nick would get another break. Maybe  _ Hydra _ was hiding things in old bases, too.

“Daisy,” he said, thoughts whirling. “Can you access the SHIELD mainframe and files on Hydra base locations at the end of World War Two?”

Blinking, Daisy nodded. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Wait, do you have an idea?”

“If I’m lucky,” Nick said, because there were a lot of maybes.

When Daisy had pulled up a map of bases, she put it up on the big screen, and Nick pushed himself to his feet. “A lot of these probably won’t exist anymore,” Daisy said, coming to stand beside him.

“More survived than you think,” Nick said dryly. Particularly with how good Hydra was at keeping secrets. “We don’t have the time, or the ability, to check them all.”

“But you think Hydra might be using them?” Daisy asked. “So what do we do?”

Nick hummed. “Can you cross-check that map with any reports of known Hydra activity?” he said. “Also, can you superimpose the network your worm found over the map?”

Daisy grinned. “I can do one better.”

She tapped her ever-present tablet and the Hydra computer network appeared over the top of the map of old Hydra bases. A few taps later, most of the computer network disappeared, leaving only the computers near old Hydra bases. Nick was impressed.

Daisy’s trick also revealed a lot of old Hydra bases were occupied. “Shit,” Daisy muttered.

“We need to know which of those are the main bases,” Nick mused, his thoughts spinning.

Thankfully, Nick’s memory wasn’t failing him yet. What information Daisy -- or her worm -- hadn’t found yet, Nick had memorized. He might have been the Director of SHIELD, and SHIELD might have had a lot of moving parts, but Nick’s strength had always been  _ knowledge _ and thinking three steps ahead. He’d let the turmoil of New York and Phil’s death, and then Hydra’s re-emergence distract him from that.

Not anymore.

It was time for Nick to stop reacting and start  _ thinking _ .

Nick frowned up at the map, not even turning away when footsteps entered the room behind him. “Morning, sir,” Trip greeted, stepping up on Nick’s other side, and because Trip was a good man as well as an excellent agent, he offered Nick one of the coffee mugs he was carrying.

“Do we have a situation, sir?” Trip asked, nodding at the screen.

“No more than usual,” Nick told him. “But the day is still young.”

Trip flashed his bright grin, still amazingly undimmed even after Hydra and the destruction of the  _ Triskelion _ . “Oh, hey, are you searching for old World War Two Hydra bases?”

Nick blinked, but he never should have underestimated the grandson of a Howling Commando. “Yes,” he agreed. “It turns out we weren’t the only ones to have the idea of using old infrastructure.”

Trip nodded. “Yeah, it makes sense,” he said. “After WW2, most of the people who knew about those bases would be dead or imprisoned. So whoever was left would be free to use them if they needed places to hide or meet.” He shot Nick a somewhat sheepish glance. “And you know, hiding in plain sight.”

“Exactly,” Nick replied, which really meant he should have thought of this sooner. Director Carter had always warned him that Hydra was prone to tricks, and if anyone would know that, it was Margaret Carter.

“Uh, Agent Fury?” Daisy said. “I think we have a problem.”

Nick bit back his inner smartass who wanted to point out that right now they had  _ many _ problems. Particularly since that inner smartass sounded a lot like Phil. “What kind of problem?” he asked instead.

“Well, I was going over the list of known Hydra bases and… well, I found one that we already knew about, except we didn’t know what I just found out,” Daisy said.

Resisting the urge to rub his forehead, Nick swallowed a large mouthful of coffee because he was probably about to need it. “Slow down and explain that from the beginning,” he said.

Daisy nodded grimly. “We found a base that we suspected Hydra was using just outside of Pila, in Poland,” she said. “Coulson took a team to check it out, only…”

“Only that’s where you ran into Hawkeye, so you didn’t complete the mission,” Nick finished for her.

“Yeah,” Daisy agreed.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a major operational base,” Trip added. “It was mostly used at the start of the Cold War. We were hoping to find records and maybe some intelligence on a computer hard drive, but not much else.” He frowned. “The amount of resistance we found was a little surprising, actually.”

“Well, I think I just figured out  _ why _ ,” Daisy said. “That base is using a  _ lot _ of power, even for the middle of nowhere. Maybe  _ especially _ for the middle of nowhere.”

“Good work,” Nick told them. “Keep looking into it, but something tells me we’re heading back to Poland.”

And maybe they could finally start getting the answers they needed.

<*>

A little while later, Nick glanced up when Agent Koenig strode into the room, dressed neatly in a suit and tie despite the circumstances. “Sir,” he greeted, walking right up to Nick. “This came for you.”

He handed Nick a bright yellow padded envelope and Nick’s eyebrows rose. “Thank you, Agent Koenig,” Nick replied, taking it and trying not to let any of his sudden trepidation show on his face.

Pulling out one of his hidden knives, Nick slit the envelope open. Koenig wouldn’t have handed Nick anything he suspected of being a threat, but a small jolt of fear still rippled through Nick’s stomach for a brief second until an old, battered flip-phone slid out.

_ Fuck _ , Hydra had him on edge.

He blinked down at the phone. There was nothing incriminating written on the envelope -- in fact, there was nothing written at all. Frowning, Nick shook the envelope and a small, crumpled note fluttered out, addressed in big black letters to ‘Dread Pirate Fury’.  _ Stark _ . Well, that answered the question as to whether Maria had spoken to the billionaire or not. Inside the note, all Stark had written was ‘Call me’, followed by several crosses, because Stark lived to rattle cages.

Nick shook his head, but some of the weight on his shoulders eased all the same. Stark on their side was not to be underestimated. Inside the phone, there were only two contacts: I’m Awesome, and Soldier Barbie. Maria was going to hurt Stark when she found out, and Nick wouldn’t do a thing to stop her.

Nevertheless, he pressed the entry for ‘Soldier Barbie’ and waited for the phone to ring in his ear.

“Yeah?”

Maria’s voice was tired and clipped, her irritation shining through even in just one word. Nick raised both eyebrows, his gaze flicking to the clock, but no, even with the different time zones, it was still a reasonable hour on Maria’s end.

“Hey, you’re the one that sent me a phone,” Nick asked dryly.

“ _ Nick _ ,” Maria said, her breath gusting out on a sigh. “Thank fuck.”

Nick’s stomach clenched. “What? What’s happened?”

“What hasn’t?” Maria snapped. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of. You think I don’t worry?”

Nick winced. “Sorry.” His only defense was that he’d had a lot on his mind.

Maria huffed. “So,” she said. “You want a report, or can I ask questions?”

Unable to stop his smile, Nick felt his shoulders unknot a little. That was the Commander he relied on. “How about we do both?” he suggested.

Maria hummed in agreement. “Talbot’s taskforce is gaining influence, mostly because the Colonel keeps holding press conferences, and they’re snapping up every SHIELD resource they can get there hands on. Although, I believe Melinda and Natasha may have made a dent in that, recently.”

Nick smiled. “They stole a quinjet.”

“Just one?” Maria said dryly, and dammit, she’d picked that tone up straight from Phil, hadn’t she? “We’ve got another player, too: the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre. A CIA agent by the name of Everett Ross is working with Talbot, presumably to gather up SHIELD remnants outside the US.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” Nick said.

“As for Hydra,” Maria continued, “They continue to be fucking narcissistic Nazis. I feel compelled to point out I have blown up far fewer than I would like.”

_ Agreed _ . Nick smiled, but it wasn’t a nice expression. “And our side?” he asked.

“Holding together,” Maria replied. “Hand has ceded territory to Talbot, given that she’d stripped anything useful out of the Hub, Blake is continuing to feed me intel from his sources, and Weaver retains her hold on the Academy. The numbers of agents taking refuge there are remaining consistent for now, so I think we’ve probably found the last that want to come in.” Maria huffed again. “Stark’s also helping as much as he can, as is Colonel Rhodes, but they’re also busy fighting all the threats SHIELD can’t right now.”

That was something. Not much, but something. “Phil and his team have made a little progress on trying to find out the identities of Hydra’s heads,” Nick reported. “But it’s taking time. Meanwhile, Garrett is still recruiting Hydra strike teams and Pierce has disappeared off the face of the map.”

“Great,” Maria muttered. She paused. “And Barton?”

Nick let out a long breath. As always, Barton was many things and SHIELD’s fall had cracked something open in him that had only just closed over, but he was alive and he was fighting. “Back in the fight,” he said. “He’s with us and he’ll fight. The rest… well, if we survive, we can figure that out.” 

Hopefully.

“Barton didn’t come in alone,” Nick continued. “He made contact with James Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier, who is apparently no longer under Hydra control and wants to shoot them as much as we do.” He hesitated with the rest, but Maria deserved to know. “He also brought Jasper with him.”

A thick silence echoed over the phone. “Jasper’s there?” Maria asked finally, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“He is,” Nick confirmed. “In one piece, too, but he’s hurting. We all are.”

“Fuck,” Maria breathed, but Nick probably hadn’t been supposed to hear that. “That’s… that’s good news.”

“It’s more than we had before,” Nick agreed.

“There’s something else,” Maria said. “Sir, have you heard anything from the WSC?”

Nick snorted. “The Council is hardly going to call me after they called me a traitor,” he said, and damn if that didn’t still burn.

“No, I mean, have you heard anything about what they’re up to?” Maria said. “I expected they’d be more involved behind the scenes with Talbot’s taskforce, but I can’t see their influence anywhere. They’ve just disappeared.”

“It’s possible they’re lying low,” Nick replied, but he wasn’t convinced. The World Security Council was made up of very powerful and influential people, and they weren’t all Hydra. After everything they did before the fall of SHIELD, they should still be out there, trying to clean up the mess, or at the very least, sink their claws into whoever was going to succeed SHIELD. If Maria hadn’t heard any whispers or rumours, that was worrying.

“Possible, yes,” Maria said.  _ But very unlikely _ .

“You think Hydra took them out?” Nick said.

Maria hummed. “No, I think we would have heard something if they had. Which is part of what’s worrying me.”

_ Great _ . Yet another problem to deal with. “See if you can find anything out,” Nick ordered. “Get Stark on it, if you have to. You’re right that something’s up, and we need to find out what that is.” Nick would put his own feelers out as soon as he got a chance. “I’m heading to Poland soon. We’ve got a lead on some Hydra activity, and Phil and I are going to check it out. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Maria said. “Any other orders?”

“Just give them hell, Commander,” Nick told her.

“Copy that,” Maria said, and hung up.

<*>

Nick hesitated in the doorway to the room Phil had claimed as his own. The door was open, and in the second before Phil noticed his presence, Nick had caught the slump to Phil’s shoulders and the exhausted despair on his face. Phil was suffering just as much -- if not more -- than the rest of them, and sometimes it was hard to see through Phil’s stubborn pretense that everything was fine.

Not that Nick could do much to fix it, but he did worry.

“Nick,” Phil greeted, but he couldn’t quite hide the lingering sadness in his eyes.

“Cheese,” Nick replied.

Phil blinked. Nick didn’t call him by his old Ranger nickname often, but like now, it was often deliberate. Sometimes, he needed Phil to remember the Ranger he’d been, not the agent he’d become.

“We blowing something up?” Phil asked dryly.

Nick grinned. “I was thinking more like banging some skulls together, actually.”

Phil arched an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

“No catch,” Nick told him.

Phil snorted. “With you, Nick, there’s  _ always _ a catch,” he said, but the fond tone belied the words.

“And you’re always an asshole,” Nick shot back. “You going to help me kick some Hydra ass, or not?”

After a beat of silence, a faint but genuine smile crossed Phil’s face. “I’m in,” he said. “Where are we headed?”

Nick smirked. “Poland,” he said. “If my suspicions are right, we need to go blow up an insane supercomputer.”

Phil blinked again. “Well, things with you are definitely never dull,” he said.

“Would you have it any other way?” Nick asked.

He held out his fist as Phil climbed to his feet and walked over to where Nick was still standing. Phil bumped Nick’s fist with his own, just like they’d done before every mission they’d had together as Rangers.

“Hell, no,” Phil said.

<*>

_ Hydra Base, just outside of Pila, Poland _

Breaking into a secret base run by Hydra would never be a boring routine -- that was a good way to end up  _ dead _ \-- but after a while, Hydra bases did start to feel familiar. Maybe it was all the concrete decor. Although Nick did have to give them points for not using drab green paint. It  _ lost _ a million points for being a base belonging to Hydra, but Nick was going to take the small victories where he could.

He could only imagine what Phil thought about the base. It was no doubt pithy, sarcastic as hell, and far more verbose than anyone gave him credit for -- the man kept a lot in his head, but he was a damn chatty bastard when you got to know him.

“Hey Cheese,” Nick said, his voice barely above a whisper, because he never had been able to resist teasing Phil. There was a reason Phil was his best friend and had been for thirty years. “Can I interrupt the sarcastic internal monologue for a status update, or is this bad timing?”

There was a pause. “You’re  _ hilarious _ ,” Phil said over the comms, sarcasm thick in his tone. Nick had called it.

If things were going to plan, Phil was hiding out of sight at the opposite end of the corridor. Phil and his team had already made one attempt on the base, but due to Barton’s interruption, they hadn’t completed the mission. Whatever was in the basement -- and Nick had his suspicions -- and using a hell of a lot of power for a remote base remained undiscovered. Nick had plans to change that.

“Actually, he kind of is, AC,” Daisy chimed in. She was back at the temporary ops center they’d set up in an old apartment building, hopefully safe for the moment.

“See?” Nick said. He could almost see the scowl taking over Phil’s face. “She gets me, Cheese.”

“Did you want a status update or not?” Phil grumbled.

“You have eyes on the basement entry?” Nick asked, getting back to business and letting the humour fade from his voice. He was almost sorry to lose the banter, but the mission had to come first.

“Yeah,” Phil replied. “You?”

“Yes,” Nick said. His gaze flicked up the corridor at the first trace of movement. “Guard rotation approaching.”

Nick was careful concealed in the shadows of an alcove fifty feet from the basement door, and just out of the way of the guard patrols. Well, hopefully. According to Phil, the number of Hydra soldiers at the base was pretty much the same as the last time Phil and his team had been there, and the guard rotations hadn’t significantly changed, either. Hydra was either very confident that the remains of SHIELD wouldn’t break in again -- and clearly they were wrong about that one -- or they weren’t actually as strong as they wanted to appear. Either was useful for the mission, but the second had interesting implications.

Nick could use any weakness to exploit.

“Guards should finish passing by in thirty,” Daisy said. “And then you’re clear for two minutes.”

Plenty of time.

“Copy that,” Nick said.

And, okay -- not that Nick would  _ ever _ admit it out loud -- he was maybe a little rusty, because it took Nick a full ninety seconds to get past the door. He’d clearly been spending too much time behind a desk. Either that, or he was getting too old for this, and that wasn’t something Nick wanted to contemplate, thanks.

The bunker beyond the door was dark, dank and creepy with a capital  _ creep _ . Hydra had really gone for the supervillian aesthetic. A faint green light barely pierced the darkness, and Nick’s hand twitched towards the gun holstered on his thigh despite Phil’s steady presence watching his back. Silently, he and Phil crept down the stairs and deeper into the bunker. Nick couldn’t speak for Phil, but if it wasn’t for the good of the planet, Nick would  _ not _ be trying to find out what was down there.

“Are you getting the ‘about to be hideously murdered’ vibes, too, or is it just me?” Phil whispered.

Nick snorted, his lips twitching up. Only to have his blood freeze in his veins as an ominous click echoed around the bunker. A second later, the lights flickered on, illuminating the rows of computer banks surrounding a large black screen. Well, not entirely black. Green computer code spooled across the surface, like something out of an 80s hacker movie.

“Oh, I am afraid it is not just you, Agent Coulson,” a German-accented electronic voice stated. “You and the former Director Fury  _ are _ about to die.”

The distorted electronic image of Arnim Zola replaced the scrolling code on the screen. Nick let out a slow breath. “See?” he said, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. “I told you there’d be an insane supercomputer.”

“ _ Woah _ ,” Daisy’s voice echoed over the comm. “You know, there was a part of me that was really hoping the evil supercomputer part of this mission  _ wasn’t real _ .”

Nick could sympathize with that, because seriously.  _ Fuck that _ .

“I am very much sane, Nicholas,” Zola said, and Nick was going to take great pleasure in exploding this sonuvabitch into smithereens. “You cannot stop me, or Hydra, no matter how hard you and Captain Rogers try.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that,” Nick muttered.

“Your bravado is useless,” Zola said. “I have already alerted the entire base to your presence. You have less than two minutes before elite Hydra troops flood this bunker and eliminate you.”

“Oh, shit,” Daisy said. “It’s true. I tried to stop him, but he was too fast. He’s definitely triggered some sort of internal silent alarm.”

Not the worst odds Nick and Phil had ever survived. “Guess we better make this quick then,” Nick said, trading a glance with Phil. They’d come prepared, after all. And not just with explosives, either. Surreptitiously, Nick placed the small remote bug on one of the larger computer drives.

“Connection established,” Daisy reported, and there was a flurry of typing on her end of the comm. “I’m in. Grabbing whatever I can from the evil, creepy supervillain computer.”

Nick hoped whatever Daisy could get would be useful, but they still had a mission to complete. He slipped the backpack off his shoulders as Phil did the same, and between them they pulled out the explosive charges they’d brought. All they needed to do was place and arm them, and then Zola wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone anymore. Nick started on the left side of the bank of computer drives and maybe it was overkill to leave the charges less than a foot apart, but hey, Zola  _ was _ a creepy supercomputer. He tossed Phil the last charge as his mental countdown reached the one hundred second mark.

“No, you cannot do this!” Zola yelled. My troops will stop you! I will not be destroyed!”

“Fuck that,” Phil replied.

“Hydra troops have reached the door,” Daisy warned. “I can see eight of them, and there’s more coming.”

Nick snorted. “You made a fatal mistake, Zola,” he said, staring straight at Zola’s screen as the sound of boots sprinting down the corridor above them echoed down. “For all your genius, computers can’t  _ run _ .”

He nodded to Phil. and Phil nodded back.  _ Timers set _ , Phil signed silently, using the old military signals from their time in the Rangers.  _ Three minutes _ .

_ Let’s move _ , Nick signed back.

There was no pretty or easy way to do this. Nick was an old soldier, but he’d gotten to  _ be _ an old soldier by a combination of luck, listening to his gut and pure fucking  _ refusal _ to just roll over and give in. And like hell was he going to let some unnamed Hydra goon take him out now. Drawing his gun, Nick took cover on one side of the stairs as Phil did the same on the other side. Hydra had the advantage with the higher ground, and time was very quickly counting down, but Nick had Phil.

This wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had fought their way out of places and situations that were supposed to have killed them.

The door at the top of the stairs burst open with a series of shouts and a hail of gunfire, but Nick simply ducked out of the way and lined up his shot.  _ Three, two _ … Nick moved, shooting two of the goons while Phil took out a third. He ducked back behind cover at the answering burst of gunfire, but the so called  _ elite _ Hydra troops had worse aim than Imperial Stormtroopers.

Which, naturally, was when one of the goons developed enough intelligence to throw a grenade down the stairs.

_ Fuck _ .

Phil reacted before Nick could, sliding out of cover and scooping up the grenade in a smooth motion before sending it flying back at Hydra. Nick grinned sharply, because it was a trick Phil had pulled all the time back in the Rangers. The goons had time enough to let out a few startled shouts before the grenade exploded, sending shards of concrete and wood flying down from the top of the stairs. “Go, go!” Nick called out.

Together, he and Phil hit the stairs at a sprint, Nick first and Phil right on his heels. Nick fired a few shots as they hit the top, but the grenade had mostly taken out the remaining Hydra thugs waiting for them.

“Are you guys okay?” Daisy asked over the comms.

“For now,” Nick replied. “How long do we have before the charges go off?”

“Forty seconds,” Phil said. “So let’s  _ go _ .”

He smacked Nick on the shoulder and took off running down the corridor. Nick followed without hesitation, because he wasn’t stupid.

“Five goons, coming up on your left,” Daisy reported.

Phil ducked right, and Nick pivoted left, letting off a few shots at the Hydra thugs, hitting one and forcing the rest back. He took off in a spring after Phil, just in time to catch a large Hydra soldier knock the gun from Phil’s hands. Nick took the soldier out with two bullets, while Phil dealt with the soldier’s buddy via several well placed punches and a large amount of unadulterated rage.

“Shit, ten seconds!” Daisy said, the tension in her voice unmistakable.

They weren’t going to make it, not to the exit, not before the charges blew. Every step was another second gone, and just before the countdown in his head hit zero, Nick grabbed Phil and pressed them both flat against a wall. The explosion that ripped through the base was enough to shake the ground under Nick’s boots, the hot roar of the shockwave slamming into him.

“Guys! Fury? AC?” Daisy’s voice filtered back to him, as if it was coming from underwater. “Oh, please don’t be dead.”

Nick’s head was spinning, and the hot trickle down the side of his cheek probably wasn’t a good sign, but he was in one piece. He glanced sideways at Phil, coughing a little in the dust. Phil was covered in a layer of grime and had a cut above his eyebrow, but otherwise appeared unhurt.

“Guys? Come on, someone answer me,” Daisy said frantically.

“We’re here,” Nick rasped out, coughing again when the words made him inhale more dust.

Daisy let out a shuddering breath. “Okay, good, that’s good.”

“Heading to the exit now,” Nick added, because even with most of the base exploded, Nick wasn’t about to stick around until the remaining Hydra goons recovered their wits.

Phil clapped him on his shoulder. “Right behind you.”

<*>

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

By the time they made it back to London, Nick’s bruises had been downgraded to only mild agony, and Daisy had mostly stopped hovering. Nick could admit, if only to himself, that it had been a close one. He and Phil had managed to climb their way out of the rubble of the base in Poland without much trouble, and they’d patched up the cuts and scrapes easily enough, but next time Nick was --  _ maybe _ \-- going to take a strike team rather than just his snarky best friend and his protege.

Daisy had managed to download a surprisingly large amount of data from the computer system before they’d blown it up, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, Nick just wanted to quiet his mind long enough to sleep, only his brain wasn’t letting him. It’s why he’d retreated to the roof, hoping the fresh air would help.

The roof was quiet, if cold. Nick understood why Clint retreated up here so much. He breathed out, tucking his hands into his jacket. Invisible weight was pressing down on his shoulders and chest, like Atlas with the weight of the world on his back. Hydra was still out there, doing things that Nick and the remnants of SHIELD had no idea about. Yet. Maybe.

Nick had spent a large part of his life within SHIELD, and the time before that in the Army, and he’d  _ never _ felt so helpless. He  _ hated _ it. And despite all of that, all of the swirling need and anger driving him to find and stop Hydra, they were still five steps behind and scrambling to keep up. The mission to Zola’s base had only reinforced that.

Steady, even footsteps approached, and Nick tensed. He didn’t  _ want _ to answer any questions or deal with any more crises. He was  _ exhausted _ .

“Coffee?” Jasper said mildly, offering Nick a steaming mug.

“Thanks,” Nick said, surprised, but he dragged a hand out of his jacket to accept the mug.

Sipping from his own coffee, Jasper silently turned his gaze out over the London skyline. It was… nice. Companionable. But then, Jasper’s presence had always been soothing, despite how Nick had tried to keep barriers between them. Barriers that now, in hindsight, were stupid and pointless. They certainly hadn’t stopped Nick’s tangled emotions. He still wanted to wrap Jasper up in his arms, protect him and keep him close. Wanted to kiss him awake in the morning and fall asleep next to him at night.

If only he could stop the equally painful twist to his guts every time he thought the same about Melinda. Nick was aware that someone could be in love with two people at once, but that didn’t mean both Melinda and Jasper could love  _ him _ back. Nick’s heart was being torn in two directions, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do before it tore in half and left him a heartbroken mess in the aftermath.

“You okay?” Jasper asked quietly.

Nick blinked, focusing back on Jasper’s face, and found that Jasper had turned towards him. His eyes were dark and worried behind his glasses. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Nick said, deflecting because that wasn’t exactly a question he wanted to answer right now.

Jasper’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You could, but I’ll just give you the same answer I gave you last time,” he said.

Nick snorted. “That’s fair.”

Jasper had been through a lot with Hydra, and then helping Clint after SHIELD had fallen. He’d been fighting his own battles while Nick had been scrambling to hold the remnants of SHIELD together, but that didn’t stop the need that curled through Nick’s stomach to keep him safe and protected.

Silence fell again and Jasper shifted until his shoulder was pressed against Nick’s. Nick swallowed and gratefully took the comfort offered. He’d been quietly terrified the whole time Jasper had been undercover, even before the discovery of Hydra, and Jasper simply standing beside him felt like a gift.

Nick let out a sigh and took a sip of coffee. “I’m glad you’re here, Jas,” he said, because now was not the time to stay quiet about that aspect of his feelings, even if he still wasn’t willing to voice the scope of them.

“Yeah,” Jasper said hoarsely. He reached down to tangle his fingers with Nick’s. “Me, too.”

Nick’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he held himself still, not wanting to do anything that made Jasper move away. The arrangement he and Jasper had fallen into in recent years hadn’t really been what Nick was after, but he’d taken what he could get, particularly after Melinda pulled so far away after what she’d been through in Bahrain. Nick didn’t blame her, because she’d been doing what she needed to, but it had still  _ hurt _ . It still hurt, but only because part of him felt almost unbearably  _ guilty _ for loving Jasper, too.

Except, maybe Nick could actually get something he wanted. Maybe, after everything that he’d been through over the last year, he could let down his barriers enough to let Jasper in. He sipped his coffee in silence, soaking in Jasper’s warmth beside him and the calloused palm of Jasper’s against his, and something settled, soft and warm, in Nick’s chest. Jasper slowly shuffled closer, not really attempting to be subtle, and Nick had to fight back a smile. 

Finally, Nick just huffed and dragged Jasper in by their joined hands. Jasper hit his side with a small grunt and a flare of pain from his bruises, and Nick shifted until Jasper was tucked into his side, Nick’s arm curled around his waist.

“Better,” Nick said, faintly teasing.

“Ugh,” Jasper replied, burying his face in Nick’s shoulder so that his words were muffled. “You’re still an asshole.”

“Yep,” Nick agreed as he drank the remainder of his coffee.

Jasper snuggled closer, fine tremors rippling through his body. “Okay. Just so we’re clear on that,” he snarked into Nick’s sweater.

Nick smiled. He’d missed Jasper’s sarcasm and barbed comments, because as much as Jasper pretended otherwise, he was just as prickly and guarded as Melinda. Nick really did have a type.

When Jasper’s tremors finally eased and Nick was beginning to shiver, he pulled back enough to nudge Jasper towards the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “Time to head inside.”

“Yeah,” Jasper agreed, but he kept his chin ducked and wouldn’t meet Nick’s gaze. “Of course.”

“ _ Jas _ ,” Nick said dryly.

Jasper jerked his head up and scowled. “ _ What _ ?”

_ So prickly _ . Nick wouldn’t have it any other way. “I will happily continue to cuddle the shit out of you, I just want to do it somewhere  _ warm _ .”

“Oh.” Jasper smiled sheepishly. “Okay.”

Nick shook his head. “Okay,” he echoed.

<*>


	25. Phil

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Phil blinked awake, alone, which wasn’t completely unexpected. Ever since Phil’s return from raiding Zola’s second bunker, Clint had been sneaking into his room in the early hours of the morning to share his bed. It thankfully wasn’t one of the tiny bunks some of the others were sleeping in, but even so, Clint huddled under the covers on the edge of the mattress, as far as he could get while still sharing space. At least until Phil’s presence calmed the tremors that shook him. Sometimes, if Phil was lucky, he’d woken around dawn to the comfort of one of Clint’s strong arms resting on his waist.

With a sigh, Phil rolled onto his back and rubbed a hand over his face. He was feeling more like his old self -- one of the side-benefits of having Clint sneaking into his bed was that Phil slept better. He wasn’t sure if that was because of Clint’s solid warmth beside him or just because that way he knew exactly where Clint was, but Phil wasn’t going to question it in case Clint stopped.

Sighing again, he glared up at the ceiling like it held all the answers, but the ceiling remained stubbornly silent. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he needed to stop skipping meals too, but Phil was reluctant to leave the warmth of the blankets.

He still wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with Clint. During their waking hours, Clint still avoided him, mostly keeping to himself or talking with Natasha, head bent and voice low. Phil was trying very hard not to push Clint, but there was an undeniable part of him that wanted his old relationship with his asset back. He wanted the bantering and the teasing and Clint invading his personal space, not the wraith Clint had become.

Which was selfish and stupid, because that Clint was still there. He was just dealing with everything that happened to him, the same way Phil was still reeling from what he’d been through.

Huffing out another sigh, Phil ruthlessly shoved those feelings into the back corner of his mind. He wasn’t ready to deal with the demons that dwelled there yet. Instead, Phil reluctantly climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of black cargo pants, boots and a dark grey t-shirt under a black jacket. He didn’t bother shaving, either, just splashed some cold water on his face and headed to the mess to grab some coffee.

<*>

“Hey, AC,” Daisy greeted when Phil walked into the command center.

Phil attempted to smile back. “Hey, Daisy,” he greeted. “I don’t suppose you’ve got good news?”

“Uh,” Daisy said, pausing in her rapid typing. “We have reliable internet again?”

Okay, that actually  _ was _ good news. The signals Daisy had been piggybacking off had been spotty at best, so this was a definite step up. Phil just wasn’t going to ask about any of the details. “Yay,” he said. “And, boy, have I lowered my expectations recently.”

Daisy chuckled. “Well, if you liked that, you’re really gonna love this,” she said. “It may not exactly be good news, but I think I’ve found something.”

Phil blinked, because he was still only drinking his first cup of coffee of the morning. Nick had given Daisy and Trip a copy of the data they’d downloaded at Zola’s Bond-villain bunker, and to be honest, Phil was surprised she’d found something useful this quickly. Not because Daisy lacked skills, but because the data had been highly encrypted and of dubious relevance.

“Oh?” he said. “Please tell me it’s not another of Zola’s supervillain bunkers.”

Daisy grimaced. “I know, right?  _ So _ creepy,” she said. “And, no, it’s not. At least, I think it’s not?”

“So what is it?” Phil asked.

“So, I’ve been tracking Garrett and Ward, right?” Daisy said. “I’ve got nothing that helps figure out where they currently are, but I tapped a few of my old Rising Tide sources, and they sent me these.”

Daisy tapped her Starktab and a series of photos flashed up on the big screen on the wall. Some of them were grainy grabs from surveillance cameras, while others were clearly taken on phones. All showed either Garrett or Garrett and Ward meeting with a succession of thugs and mercenaries. Phil recognized most of them from SHIELD mission files.

“Garrett’s recruiting,” Phil said.

“For Hydra, or for himself?” Daisy asked, coming to stand beside Phil in front of the big screen.

Phil frowned. “If I know Garrett, then both,” he said. “Garrett’s been lobbying for his own section of strike teams for years.”

“So he wants a set of GI Joe teams that are loyal to Hydra?” Daisy said. “That’s not terrifying or anything.”

“Right?” Phil said.

Daisy bit her lip. “If he’s going to manage that, he’s going to need a base of operations,” she mused. “Any ideas?”

Phil considered it. “I’d almost say the Hub, if Talbot wasn’t ready to move on it,” he said.

Daisy raised both eyebrows. “ _ Really _ ?”

Phil nodded. “It’s set up to handle missions all over the world. It also feeds right into Garrett’s ego.”

Daisy snorted. “That I believe,” she muttered. “Okay, so if not the Hub, then where? One of Hydra’s old World War Two bunkers?”

Frowning, Phil thought about it. “It wouldn’t be just any bunker. Garrett may not be a true believer in Hydra, but he’s always known the power of symbols,” he said, and it hurt to think of the man who’d once been his friend, like pressing on an old bruise. “He’ll want to set up a power base. Something to command the loyalty of the men that follow him, to make them more loyal to  _ Garrett _ than to Hydra, but he’ll be subtle about it.”

“So what are we going to do?” Daisy asked. “We can’t just give Ward and Garrett free reign, right?”

“No,” Phil agreed. “But first, we have to  _ find _ them.”

“And then what?” Daisy demanded.

Phil let out a breath. “How about we burn that bridge when we get to it?” he said dryly.

Daisy snorted, wrinkling her nose. “Can we burn  _ them _ ?” she muttered. She glanced at Phil. “I’ll narrow down my search, factor in important Hydra bases that Garrett might use, and let you know if I find anything.”

Phil swallowed. “Thank you, Daisy.”

Someone cleared their throat behind Phil, and he whirled, heart leaping into his throat. Behind him, none other than  _ Steve Rogers _ held up his hands, his mouth twisted into a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle anyone.”

Daisy let out a breath and set down the gun she’d pulled as Phil tried to calm his thundering heart. “Damn,” she muttered. “Guess sneaking is one of the reasons why you’re a supersoldier, huh?”

“Captain Rogers,” Phil greeted, struggling to find a sense of equanimity. Steve Rogers was the  _ last _ person Phil had ever expected to see in their base.

And yet, there he was.

Rogers was just as tall and broad as he had been the first time he and Phil had met, although this time he wore slightly more modern clothes. A bag was slung over his shoulder and he set it down carefully, along with his shield. Phil squeezed his hands into fists, because despite everything, there was a small eight year old boy deep in his chest going absolutely ape-shit. Maybe one day Phil would get over his reaction to  _ Captain America _ , but today was not it.

“Agent Coulson,” Rogers replied with a nod. “Commander Hill told me Fury was heading in this direction, so I thought I’d tag along.”

Phil raised both his eyebrows. “Or, in other words, you followed him and snuck into the base?” he said mildly, because Steve Rogers had been his childhood hero for a  _ reason _ .

Rogers’ sheepish smile made a reappearance. “I did,” he admitted. His smile faded. “And can I just say for the record, Agent Coulson, it’s good to see you alive.”

His throat suddenly thick, Phil swallowed. “Likewise, Captain,” he managed.

Nodding once, Rogers turned to the big screen on the wall where Daisy’s map was still visible. “I have an idea on the location of that base you’re tracking, if you’re interested,” Rogers said.

“Uh,” Daisy said, and she blinked, shaking her head slightly. “Yeah, of course.”

She slid a glance towards Phil, wide-eyed, and hid her face behind her tablet. “Oh my God,” she mouthed at Phil and Phil smiled faintly. He concurred.

“Back in the war, Hydra had headquarters in the Swiss Alps,” Rogers said softly, still staring at the screen. “We -- the Howling Commandos -- joined the SSR to find Schmidt, and that’s where we found him. The base was torn up a little, but it should still be there. I… I don’t know what happened to it, because…”

Because Captain Rogers had crashed into ice just after that mission and been frozen for seventy years. Phil nodded, stepping up beside Rogers. Surreptitiously, he sucked in a deep breath because  _ holy shit _ Rogers was here, but Phil wouldn’t have been a senior SHIELD agent if he couldn’t roll with the punches.

He could always freak out later, after all.

“The SSR and eventually SHIELD took the base over,” Phil said. “They stripped it of intelligence and it’s been on lockdown ever since.”

Rogers nodded, his jaw flexing. “It’d make a hell of a statement if they took it back,” he said. “If Garrett took it back. And it’s secure, set right into the mountains. Made a good control center for a reason.”

It made sense, and it fed right into Garrett’s ego. “I’ll get right on finding everything I can,” Daisy said, turning to Rogers. “Don’t suppose you could give me a location a little more specific than the Swiss Alps?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rogers said. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Phil said quietly.

Rogers smiled one of his poster smiles, all wholesome goodness and completely fake. “Well, fighting Hydra is my job, Agent Coulson,” he said.

Phil snorted. “No it isn’t. It’s a  _ choice _ , just like everybody else.” The truth of his words echoed somewhere deep inside him. Phil let out a breath. “Do what is right, not what is easy,” he quoted.

Rogers turned to him, surprised, and Phil met his gaze with a level stare. “SHIELD was founded because there was a group of good men -- and women -- who refused to sit idly by and do nothing. The Howling Commandos and their Captain left a larger legacy than you think.”

Rogers swallowed, his throat bobbing, and nodded sharply.

Phil nodded back and turned away to give Rogers a moment of privacy. “I don’t suppose you’ve found anything in Zola’s files yet?” he asked Daisy.

“Maybe,” Daisy said, smirking as she handed him a tablet. “But someone still needs to review it all.”

Phil sighed. “Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” he said dryly, heading for a spare desk.

“That’s the spirit, AC,” Daisy replied brightly.

Rogers cleared his throat again. “If you need any help with that,” he said. “I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Phil said, gently nudging a spare chair at the desk and ducking his head to hide a faintly giddy smile as Rogers joined him.

<*>

A few hours later, Phil set down his tablet with a sigh and rubbed at his eyes. They were sore and gritty from staring at the sheer overload of information they’d found at Zola’s bunker, and sifting through it to find the relevant details for what Hydra was planning to do  _ next _ was as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack.

Possibly harder.

And that didn’t even include  _ how _ they were going to deal with Garrett if he really had taken over the old Hydra Headquarters in the Swiss Alps. It had hardly been easy for the Howling Commandos, and as resourceful as SHIELD agents were, they were all running on empty. It had been a hard fight to get this far, let alone actually mount an offensive against Hydra.

Leaning back in his chair, Phil stared blankly up at the ceiling. Nick was due back soon, having disappeared with Trip to contact some of the other pockets of remaining SHIELD agents, so maybe he’d have some ideas. So far, Phil had nothing.

The only promising lead Phil had found was a trail that led towards Sokovia. Zola’s files linked money to a facility somewhere within the country, and based on the data being sent back and forth, it was some sort of research facility. It might not lead to any head of Hydra, but if the facility was important, it might have some useful intelligence. Regardless, it was also the kind of place that the remains of SHIELD couldn’t leave standing, because who knew what kind of creepy things Hydra was creating there?

“Agent Coulson?” Rogers said softly, breaking into Phi’s thoughts.

Straightening, Phil glanced at him. “As I’ve said before, Captain,” he said dryly. “I’m hardly an agent anymore.”

The bleak truth of it was, since the fall of SHIELD and in the eyes of the world, Phil was at best a rogue agent and at worst, a traitor. He tried not to think about it.

“Okay, how about I call you Phil if you call me Steve?” Rogers suggested.

Phil smiled despite himself, because the glint in Rogers’ -- no,  _ Steve’s _ \-- eye was pure, unadulterated smartass. When things were a little bit less unstable, he and Clint were going to get on like a house on fire, with all the destruction that implied.

“Okay,” Phil agreed. “Steve.”

Steve smiled. “So, I hear you used to be a Ranger?”

Blinking, Phil tried to figure out who had told Steve that. Maybe Maria? She knew his history better than most, except for maybe Nick, but that was only because Nick had been there for half of it. “I was,” Phil replied. “Although, I’d also counter by saying you never stop being a Ranger, even if you stop wearing the uniform.”

Steve’s smile widened. “Yeah,” he said. “I hear you. Jim used to say the same thing.”

Stilling, Phil blinked again. “Jim?” he said. “As in Jim  _ Morita _ ?” The Howling Commando?

“That’s the one,” Steve said. Sadness flickered over his face. “He was a hell of a soldier.”

Phil shrugged, because a hell of a soldier was one of many things Jim Morita had been. “Well, he was a Ranger.”

That surprised a quiet chuckle out of Steve. Then his gaze turned speculative as he looked Phil over. “I can’t stick around for long. I’ve got a friend waiting for me, and there’s something I need to do,” he said, glancing away.

“You’re going to look for Barnes,” Phil said. He could hardly blame Steve. He’d do the same. Hell, he had, even if his search for Clint had been interrupted by Hydra.

“I am,” Steve agreed, his jaw firming and his shoulders straightening. “But I’m also going to take out every Hydra agent I find. And if you need me, just call and I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, because Steve meant it, and the sincerity was enough to have Phil swallowing. Steve Rogers would be, first and foremost, a good man.

Steve shrugged one shoulder, his smile faintly abashed. “Well, us old soldiers have to stick together, right?”

“Damn straight,” Phil agreed. “And for what it’s worth, I really hope you find him.”

“Okay,” Daisy said, appearing at their table, tablet in hand. “Not to interrupt the manly bonding moment or whatever, but I found something.”

Phil straightened, snapping back to business. “Something in Zola’s intel?”

Zola’s intel on how Hydra had been operating since the war was good, but Phil was beginning to get the impression that the former scientist turned insane-computer was that he’d been out of the loop for a while.

Daisy nodded. “Yes. Well, kinda,” she said. “I was going over a list of places with known Hydra connections cross-referenced against old Hydra bases -- which is how Agent Fury found the location of Zola’s weird Apocalo-bunker in the first place -- and I think I’ve found something else,” she said.

“Wait, there was another copy of Arnim Zola out there?” Steve interrupted.

“Yes,” Phil told him bluntly, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “But don’t worry, we blew him up.”

He ignored the considering expression growing on Steve’s face and turned to Daisy. “So what did you find?” he asked.

“Well, I was tracing the money trail, because the money trail is always where the good shit is, and I found a vineyard bought with Hydra money that doesn’t show up on any of the lists of Hydra bases. Not the SSR’s, not ours and not Zola’s,” Daisy said.

“Good catch,” Phil said. “Where is it?”

“Piedmont, Italy,” Daisy said, tapping a few keys and turning the tablet to face Phil so he could see the new location that appeared on their Hydra map.

“It’s hardly the location for a major Hydra base,” Steve said with a frown. “Not isolated like that. Do you think it’s a safehouse?”

“It could be,” Daisy agreed. “But mostly I think that a small, out of the way vineyard would make an  _ excellent _ meeting place.”

Phil stilled. “The Council,” he said.

“Yeah,” Daisy replied. “The Council.”

Steve blinked. “What Council? The WSC?”

“No,” Phil said grimly. “The Council we believe is running Hydra. We’ve been trying to figure out who they are.”

Nodding, Steve rose to his feet and braced his hands on the back of his chair. “Makes sense,” he said. “Someone has to have been running Hydra since Schmidt.” He fixed Phil with a sharp look. “You think Alexander Pierce is one of them?”

“Yes,” Phil said. “I do.”

“Then I’ll keep an eye out if I hit any Hydra bases for anything you can use,” Steve said. “Sam and I have been tracking Buck…  _ Barnes _ across Europe, and Hydra would be stupid if they’re not doing the same.”

“And Hydra is anything but stupid,” Phil agreed.

“Great,” Daisy said brightly, the light of fierce determination gleaming in her brown eyes. “It’s about time we started kicking Hydra back.” She glanced over at Steve. “Do me a favour and throw that shield of yours into the faces of as many Hydra assholes as you can, okay?”

Steve nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, ma’am.”

<*>

Yawning, Phil ducked into the range. Thankfully, Melinda was there, because he’d been running out of places to look for her. He’d been worried by her absence all day, but at the same time, he hadn’t really been surprised that Nick’s comings and goings had unsettled her. Or maybe it was just the lingering bitterness and anger from Hydra and SHIELD’s fall. Melinda had sacrificed as much as anyone -- if not  _ more _ \-- for SHIELD, and Phil could attest to how much of a toll that took.

“Tea?” Phil offered when Melinda turned around to give him a pointed stare.

“Phil,”  Melinda said, exhaustion flashing across her face.

Stepping over, Phil put down the mug of tea on the table in the corner and leaned against it, carefully not getting in Melinda’s way. He studied her, noting the tension in her shoulders and the shadows under her eyes. “You okay?” he said, and he probably should have been asking Melinda that question long before now.

Melinda snorted. “Are you asking to talk about my feelings, Phil?” she said, but even so, she ejected the empty clip from her gun and set it down.

Phil shrugged. “If you want to,” he said. “I’m here if you want to talk, Mel, but this isn’t me trying to push.”

Snorting, Melinda regarded him with a dark gaze. “Maybe not, but this  _ is _ you up to something,” she replied.

“It’s nothing nefarious, I promise,” Phil told her.

Rolling her eyes, Melinda settled against the table beside Phil and cradled her mug of tea in her hands. “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with two people at once?” she asked finally.

Phil blinked, because he hadn’t been expecting that. “Definitely,” he said. “I think it’s possible to fall in love with as many people as your heart can hold.”

Melinda sent him a sidelong glance. “Very poetic.”

Phil ducked his head, but couldn’t fight the smile. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Seriously, though. There’s no limit to how many friends you can care about, so why would it be different with romantic love? Some people love lots and some people love only once or not at all.” He paused, but Melinda wouldn’t have said anything at all if she’d minded Phil asking questions. “Is this about Nick and Jasper?”

Melinda nodded. “I… I worry about both of them more than I worry about anyone else, and if anything, helping you deal with waking up has reminded me that isolating myself isn’t any way to live.”

Nodding, Phil let out a breath and hoped Nick wouldn’t hate him for what he was about to say. “If it makes a difference, I think Nick is rather torn right now,” he said. “He keeps thinking he has to choose either you  _ or _ Jasper. Maybe if he doesn’t, you could tell him?”

“Just that easy, huh?” Melinda said dryly.

“No, not easy,” Phil said. He was hardly the person who should be giving out romantic advice, but he wanted to help his friends while he could. “But Jasper’s had a crush on you for years, and… and I still find myself hoping for happy endings, despite everything.”

Melinda reached out to cover Phil’s hand with hers. “You’ll get your happy ending, Phil,” she said. “You’re too stubborn not to.”

Phil huffed. “So will you,” he said. “I’m going to be stubborn about that, too.”

Swallowing, Melinda nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

<*>

After his talk with Melinda, Phil retreated back to the Command Center. He and Daisy worked for hours before  Phil eventually had to force himself to stop going over the data, his eyes gritty. Trip, back from accompanying Nick and proving he had sense, had already retreated, and after urging Daisy to get some sleep, Phil headed for his own room. Even with the somewhat calming presence of Clint sharing his bed, Phil hadn’t been sleeping for as long as he should, and exhaustion was an ever-present spectre hovering over his shoulder. Rubbing a hand over his face, Phil shut the door to his room, and  _ froze _ .

Clint sat up from where he’d been slumped down on Phil’s bed and pulled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie before wrapping his arms around his bent knees.

“Sorry,” Phil said, at a bit of a loss at what Clint’s presence in his room  _ meant _ . Clint was still mostly avoiding him when they were awake. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was, umm-” Clint cleared his throat. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Phil replied. He swallowed, his throat thick, and ignored the way his stomach twisted. “What can I do?”

“Can I…” Clint trailed off, seemingly losing his words. He closed his eyes, his shoulders hitching, and then opened them again. “Will you let me see the scar?”

Phil’s entire body stilled, the air seizing in his lungs. His instincts screamed  _ no _ , because Clint had already assumed too much guilt, yet at the same time, Phil couldn’t deny Clint anything. Blinking, he sucked in a breath and tried to find his voice. “I… that is… it’s not pretty,” he said, even though the mostly healed scar was smaller than Phil had expected. His hand came up, almost unconsciously, to rub at his chest.

“I need to see, Phil,” Clint said softly. “ _ Please _ .” He glanced up, and in the dim light of the bedside lamp, his eyes were dark and shadowed. “It’s not guilt, I promise. I just… I need to  _ see _ .”

Clint had always trusted his eyes above everything else. Phil nodded mutely and shrugged out of his jacket. He pulled off his t-shirt, his fingers immediately twitching to cover himself. It was a ridiculous surge of vanity, but Phil couldn’t squash it down all the same. All things considered, he was in the best shape he’d been in ages, mostly due to all his training with Melinda. That didn’t silence his insecurities, though.

On the bed, Clint was heartbreakingly still, as if movement might shatter him into a million pieces. His dark gaze was locked onto Phil’s chest, wide and haunted, and Phil had to clench his fists by his sides to stop from reaching out and offering comfort.

“ _ Phil _ ,” Clint said, his voice a little more than a rasp. His eyes flicked up to Phil’s. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil said just as roughly, not even really caring what he was agreeing to.

Clint carefully unfurled himself, rising up onto his knees and shifting to the edge of the bed. The whole time, his dark gaze was fixed back on Phil’s chest, and Phil swallowed heavily. He took a step closer to Clint, and Clint slowly reached out. His hand was trembling, but his fingers were gentle as they brushed the ridge of Phil’s scar. Phil shuddered as Clint traced the rough, raised line of where Loki’s spear had pierced his chest.

“ _ Jesus _ , Phil,” Clint breathed. “He really killed you, didn’t he?”

Phil closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said.

_ Cold surrounding him, the metal hard beneath his hands and his chest burning as hot blood trickled down his chest. His vision dimmed and he needed to get up, he needed to- _

Clint’s broad palm flattened over his chest, pulling him out of his memory. Phil shivered again, this time at the warmth of the touch, and blinked open his eyes. Somehow, Clint had climbed off the bed without Phil noticing and he was watching Phil with concern. This was maybe the closest they’d been since Clint had woken Phil from his nightmare. At least while they were both awake.

Any words Phil might have uttered dried up in his throat, lost to the sudden nothingness in his mind. The side of Clint’s mouth curved up in the ghost of a smile before he leaned in to rest his forehead against Phil’s. “I’m glad you’re alive, Phil,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” Phil whispered back.

Giving in to the  _ want _ curling through his chest, Phil tugged Clint gently into a hug. Clint let out a breath and buried his face in the crook of Phil’s neck, in a mirror to when Clint had offered comfort after Phil’s nightmare. Phil lost track of time as he soaked in Clint’s warmth, for once just happy to exist in the moment.

Eventually, though, goosebumps broke out over Phil’s exposed skin and Phil shivered. The bunker wasn’t exactly the place to stand around for long without a shirt.

“Time for sleep?” Clint suggested softly, pulling back.

Phil nodded, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave and dragging him under. “Yeah,” he said. “But… stay.  _ Please _ .”

The shadows in Clint’s gaze had faded a little, and he offered Phil another small smile. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Promise.”

He waited patiently for Phil to pull on sweats and another t-shirt, and this time when they climbed into bed, Clint crowded close, his hand resting on Phil’s chest, right over the scar. Something had changed between them, although if pressed, Phil would have found it hard to describe exactly what. As he drifted off to sleep, he could only hope the change lasted into the light of day.

<*>

Phil blinked open his eyes, the comforting weight beside him already missing. The warmth still trapped in the blankets and the coffee waiting on the table next to him told Phil he hadn’t missed Clint by much. He smiled softly, a gentle spark of hope lighting in his chest. Maybe things weren’t lost as much as he thought.

Climbing out of bed, Phil took his coffee with him to the showers, and afterwards, dressed in another set of practical clothes. He’d have to do another load of laundry again soon, which seemed so mundane when the world was on the cusp of ending, but the little things helped keep Phil grounded.

In an attempt to stop himself from heading straight to the command center, Phil made his way to the mess kitchen.  Cooking had always been soothing, and for the first time in a very long while, Phil indulged in it. There was something about focusing on ingredients and heat and time that calmed his thoughts the way he couldn’t sit cross-legged in silence.  It was actually quite easy to pull together the ingredients for pancakes, and the batter kept Phil’s hands busy. They weren’t exactly the buttermilk pancakes his mother had taught him how to make, but warm food would soon have the other agents stirring.

Melinda found him first, just as Phil was adding the last two pancakes to the large stack.  “Phil,” she said flatly.

Phil raised his eyebrows at her in reply, and Melinda snorted, coming over to stand beside him. “You made pancakes,” she said.

“I did,” Phil agreed.

Melinda blinked and arched an eyebrow. “Pancakes are Nick’s favourite,” she said. “ _ Why _ are you cooking Nick’s favourite food?”

Phil’s heart skipped a beat, because this was where he was going to have to tread carefully. “Because Nick is trying to live off coffee and protein bars,” he replied dryly.

“Uh huh,” Melinda said.

Phil shot her a sidelong look. “I’ve been watching,” he said. “Nick doesn’t eat and barely sleeps. I’m worried that it’s going to cost him too much to see this through. Unless someone does something.”

“So your idea is to feed him?” Melinda asked with the hint of a smile.

“Actually,” Phil said, carefully dishing up two plates and handing them both to Melinda. “I was hoping you could make him eat.”

Melinda blinked. “ _ Me _ ?”

Phil nodded. “Think you’re not up to the task?” he asked mildly.

Glaring, Melinda nodded once. “I’m only doing this because Nick needs to eat,” she said.

“Noted,” Phil replied, hiding a smile.

Melinda frowned and narrowed her eyes. “And on one condition,” she said. “You need to eat, too.”

Phil nodded, because Melinda had a point. “I will.”

Perhaps thankfully, Melinda was interrupted from saying anything else by the arrival of four new people.  Phil blinked, because he hadn’t even noticed more agents at the base, but then again, Nick had always been damn sneaky. Mack nodded to Phil when he caught the other man’s gaze, and Phil nodded back. The other two men Phil didn’t recognize, but he had to swallow sharply as Isabelle Hartley strode in ahead of them.

It had been a few years since Phil had last seen her, but even her long-term undercover mission as a mercenary hadn’t changed her much. Her narrowed eyes scanned the room, stopping and lingering when her gaze got to Phil. Raising her eyebrows, Isabelle blinked. She gave Phil a slow nod. Phil returned the gesture.

She turned back to the men she’d come with, and they both turned with Mack to take a seat at one of the nearby tables.

“I’ll go take these to Nick,” Melinda murmured. She nodded a greeting to Isabelle. “Hartley.”

“May,” Isabelle replied, wandering over.

Phil glanced up when Isabelle settled quietly beside him, leaning up against the counter. “So, you’re not quite as dead as everyone thinks, then?” she asked, the hint of a smile curving her mouth.

“No,” Phil replied, and just like when anyone brought up the subject, Phil tried very hard not to think about it. That he  _ had _ been dead. He just… wasn’t, anymore.

Isabelle arched an eyebrow. “Resurrection not agreeing with you?”

Phil let out a breath and offered her the ghost of a smile. “My disagreement is more with the fact the world changed while I was gone,” he said softly.

A grim hardness flashed across Isabelle’s face. “Yeah,” she said. “I get that.”

Phil nodded towards the stack of pancakes. “You’re welcome to help yourself,” he said.

Isabelle snorted. “Well, at least it’s better than that crap you cooked in Budapest,” she said.

“Hey,” Phil protested. “My pancakes are great.”

Isabelle’s sharp eyes studied Phil’s face, and she smiled again, reaching out to rest a hand on Phil’s arm. “I’m glad you’re not dead, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Phil said, trying to stop the way his throat was closing up. “And I could say the same about you.”

Isabelle grinned before she flicked her eyes towards the table where her two companions were bickering softly. “Oh, and just a head’s up,” she said, jerking her chin towards the man on the right. “When that one meets Bobbi, there may be some fireworks.”

Phil frowned, studying the man, because there was something naggingly familiar about him. “Wait, is that Bobbi’s ex-husband?” he said.

“Hunter,” Isabelle said. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Definitely time for a strategic retreat,” Phil said, reaching for his own plate of pancakes.

Shaking her head, Isabelle grinned. “Go. I’ll cover for you.”

Swallowing, Phil nodded. “Thanks, Izzy,” he said.

“Always,” Isabelle replied.

<*>

A sharp knock at his door had Phil jolting out of a restless sleep. Clint hadn’t joined him, and Phil was trying very hard not to worry about why. Flicking on the lamp on his bedside table, Phil sat up as whoever was outside knocked again. Blinking, he rolled out of bed, almost going for his gun, but the lack of alarms meant it wasn’t a Hydra attack.

Probably.

Phil blinked again when he opened the door, because it wasn’t Melinda or Daisy with an update on some sort of emergency. Clint stared back at him instead, silent. Clint was dressed in sweatpants and his eyes were rimmed with red, and he was still one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful things Phil had ever seen. “Clint…” he said.

Clint shook his head. Surging forward, his hands grabbed Phil on either side of his face and before Phil could utter a sound, Clint was kissing him. Phil staggered back, and Clint kicked the door shut behind them, not letting Phil go for a second.

“Clint…” Phil tried again, pulling back.

“No,” Clint said, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. “Don’t talk, please. Just… later. Right now, I need something good to hold onto in the dark.”

Phil sucked in a deep breath, but he couldn’t deny Clint this, not after how long Phil had spent longing for Clint in his arms. He just hoped Clint didn’t hate him for this later.

So he gave in.

<*>


	26. Clint

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

“Clint,” Phil whispered, and there was so much longing and hope and  _ fear _ packed into his name that Clint was helpless against it.

In a crazy, spiralling moment, Clint needed to be sure this was real. That he  _ was _ standing there, that Phil wasn’t a hallucination, or one of the dreams Clint wouldn’t let himself remember. He surged forward, crushing his lips to Phil’s in another hard kiss, his hands fisting in Phil’s t-shirt. Clint squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to emblazon the press of Phil’s lips, the rasp of rough stubble and the solid warmth into his mind. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, beating against his ribs and Phil simply dragged him closer, letting Clint take what he needed.

Pulling back with a gasp, Clint kept his eyes closed even as he leaned his forehead against Phil’s. He struggled to even out his hitching breaths, but the blazing fire in his chest was spreading outwards, scorching the back of his throat and burning his eyes. He should say something, give voice to everything that had driven him here, into Phil’s arms, but the words stayed locked up deep within him, not wanting to come out.

Phil reached out to cup Clint’s cheek, his touch achingly gentle, and Clint couldn’t fight the soft, pained cry that burst out of him. He crumpled forwards, beyond grateful when Phil pulled him into a hug. One of Phil’s arms wrapped tightly around Clint’s waist and the other slid around his shoulders. Clint swallowed, because for the first time since he’d woken up in his cell at the WSC facility, he felt  _ safe _ . Protected. Like he could finally let go.

Clint tangled his hands in the back of Phil’s shirt and buried his face in the hollow between Phil’s shoulder and neck, his breath coming out in shuddering sobs. “I’ve got you, Clint,” Phil whispered in his ear and Clint squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears. “I’ve got you, I swear.”

When Clint finally found the courage to glance up again, Phil was watching him patiently, just like he always had, as if he was content to wait for Clint to finally accept what he was offering. And maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Clint finally was. He’d listened to Phil’s voice messages and the unspoken words behind them, and after all the pain and the grief and the loss, Clint was finally ready to reach out and seize his chance at happiness.

Phil’s fingers slid slowly over Clint’s jaw, and Clint kept still, letting Phil trace along his bottom lip and cheek, until Phil’s hand slid around the back of his head and gently pulled him forward. This kiss was much softer than Clint’s, lacking the edge of desperation and all the sweeter for it, and Clint couldn’t stop himself from clinging, soaking up Phil’s tender touch. His voice betrayed him, a soft, pathetic noise crawling out of his throat, but Phil just kissed him again and again, and  _ fuck _ Clint loved this man.

“Phil,” he groaned, but he wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

Phil, thankfully, could read his mind as easily as ever, and kissed Clint again, one hand threading into Clint’s hair and the other tightening around his waist. Clint reached up to rest his palm over Phil’s heart, the heat of Phil’s chest bleeding through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and deepened the kiss.

Now that he had the chance, Clint couldn’t keep his hands still. He slipped his other hand up underneath Phil’s worn t-shirt, revelling in the flex of muscle and skin under his hand, before shifting down to Phil’s ass, pushing down even as he ground his hips against Phil’s.

“Clint,” Phil gasped roughly, pulling back for the kiss. His eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed, and Clint had to swallow heavily. “Wait. We…”

“No, no waiting,” Clint interrupted. He’d waited too long, and he didn’t want to wait anymore. Not when he finally had what he wanted. “Haven’t they taken enough from me?”

Instead of letting Phil answer, Clint leaned back enough to yank off his own t-shirt, dropping it to the floor and reaching for the hem of Phil’s. Phil caught his hands before he could lift the fabric, however. Clint opened his mouth to demand, or maybe beg, but Phil stopped him with a finger against his lips. “I love you,” Phil said simply, an echo of pain reflected in his blue eyes. “I need you to know that, Clint. I  _ love  _ you. Probably more than I’ve ever loved anyone else.”

His glance dropped down to Clint’s chest. “I…” It was Phil’s turn to trail off, words failing him.

_ Oh. _ Clint was still wearing Phil’s dogtags. He barely noticed them anymore, but he hadn’t been able to stop wearing them. Phil reached out to touch one with a finger, and it was a sharp reminder that Clint was not the only one that was vulnerable and hurting. Phil had been through as much as Clint, had watched his world collapse and been bruised and battered in the aftermath. Both of them were broken, but perhaps they could find a way of mending the cracks together. They'd always made a great team, after all.

Clint caught Phil’s hand. “I…” he stuttered.  _ I love you, too _ . Only he didn’t have the courage to voice it.

He swallowed as Phil gave him a soft smile. “It’s all right, Clint,” Phil whispered, pressing a finger to Clint’s lips to stop the words that were still lodged in Clint’s throat.

The room was dim, the only light coming from a bedside lamp, and in the soft glow, Phil was painted gold. It softened the contours of muscle and the sharp line of his jaw, and Clint just wanted to sink against him and lose himself forever.  Phil reached up to cup Clint’s cheek and Clint leaned into it, meeting Phil’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss. Clint’s heart felt like it would burst through his ribs and fly right out of his chest, and he wanted to hold onto this moment forever and wrap it around the battered remains of his soul. Phil was all he’d ever wanted, more than he could ever have dreamed, and he shivered at Phil’s reverent touch, like Phil had maybe dreamed of him, too.

Together, they pulled Phil’s t-shirt over his head, and Clint had to bite his lip to stop from cursing at the bruises covering Phil’s skin. Clint hadn’t come out unscathed from his fight with Hydra, either, but the faded bruises marring Phil’s flesh were reminders that Phil had been waging battles without him. He  ran his hands up Phil’s arms to his shoulders, savouring the shifting muscle and warm skin under his palms.  _ Fuck _ , he wanted to touch Phil all over, to reassure himself that Phil was whole and  _ alive _ and right under his fingertips.

Swallowing heavily, Clint stared into Phil’s blue eyes as they turned dark and hungry. Then his gaze dipped to the scar on Phil’s chest. God, that  _ scar _ . The haunting reminder that he’d almost lost Phil before he could have this. Phil was far stronger than Clint had ever imagined; his G-man, enduring against all odds like the cornerstone of Clint’s life that he was. Yet, Phil was also warm and pliable under Clint’s hands, letting himself be tugged into the shape Clint needed him to be.

Clint’s breath hitched, tears burning his eyes, but he ignored them. “Phil,” he whispered brokenly into the air between them.

“I’m here, Clint,” Phil whispered back, pressing closer. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Clint swallowed, unable to stop the shivers wracking him, and he reached out for Phil with an unsteady hand. He traced the jagged line of the scar with his fingertips before he flattened his palm across it, as if somehow Clint could protect Phil from a pain he’d already endured. “I’m sorry,” Clint said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, that I didn’t…”

“No,” Phil said, and as soft as his voice was, there was an implacable will behind it. “It wasn’t your fault, Clint. It was  _ never _ your fault.”

Phil’s broad palm slid behind Clint’s neck, his touch gentle as he dragged his thumb down the line of Clint’s jaw and leaned in for a soft, open-mouthed kiss. When he pulled back, Clint chased him, not ready to let go of Phil’s touch. Phil smiled against his lips, pulling Clint closer with a hand at the small of his back, and Clint gasped as their naked chests pressed together, skin sliding against skin.

Phil’s hands glided over Clint’s chest, and Clint shivered at the goosebumps they left in their wake. He arched into the touch, biting back a whine as Phil slid his palm down Clint’s stomach and dipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Clint’s sweatpants. He savoured the rough scrape of Phil’s callouses against his skin, and when Phil pulled back, Clint tightened his grip on Phil’s biceps,  wanting to keep Phil’s hands on him. Before he could properly articulate that thought, however, Phil was pushing down Clint’s pants. Clint obligingly lifted his legs, kicking off the fabric when it tangled around one foot.

Phil slowly dragged him backwards towards Phil’s unmade bed, and Clint hit the bed first, tumbling back onto the mattress, but he barely paid it any mind, intent on tugging Phil down on top of him. Phil resisted, just  long enough to kick off his own pants, and Clint didn’t bother to stare, instead yanking Phil towards him with a hand on Phil’s hip. He could look later, but right now he needed the reassurance of Phil’s grounding weight pressing him down into the mattress.

Clint ran his hand up Phil’s arm to his shoulder, enjoying the hard muscle under Phil’s warm skin. The last months had changed both of them, stripping away some of Phil’s softness to reveal the soldier underneath. While Clint hated the reasons for it, he couldn’t help but admire the new strength to Phil’s frame, particularly with how Phil held himself up so he could press kisses down Clint’s neck to his shoulder and then one, lingering and soft, on Clint’s chest, just above his heart.

Clint swallowed, reaching out to trace along Phil’s cheekbone when he glanced up. There was no more need for words between them, the silence only broken by gasps and quiet moans. Everything needed was being said by the gentle slide of Phil’s calloused palm and the rasp of stubble against Clint’s skin.

Clint spread his legs wider, cradling Phil between them. He wanted to stay like this forever, Phil’s solid heat above him and the slick slide of Phil’s mouth against his own. Clint could  _ never _ tire of Phil kissing him like this, and the  air was heavy between them, thick with tension, but not in a bad way. It set Clint’s skin on fire, pleasure throbbing low in his stomach. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his hips twitching restlessly as he sought friction, desperate for Phil.

Phil ground down and Clint swore into Phil’s mouth, his hips jerking up against Phil’s with a hard thrust. He clutched at Phil’s shoulders, at his back, the muscles rippling under his hands as Phil moved.  With hands and lips, Phil  mapped out the bruises and scars littering Clint’s body, but it was too much. Tears burning his eyes, Clint yanked Phil up into a hard kiss, his thighs lifting to bracket Phil’s. Phil sighed, his body relaxing enough to rest more solidly over Clint’s. Phil loomed above him, not threatening, but strong and  _ real _ , his arms on either side of Clint’s head. It was easy to imagine Phil as a protective shield against the world outside, and Clint pressed closer, curling his hand around the back of Phil’s neck.

Phil stroked a hand down Clint’s chest and flank to his thigh, his fingers digging into the muscle when Clint rolled his hips upwards. Clint  arched with a cry, his head dropping back as Phil trailed wet, sucking kisses along his collarbone. “ _ Phil _ ,” he groaned, eyes sliding shut.

“I’m here,” Phil whispered against Clint’s throat, and Clint couldn’t take it anymore.

He surged up, Phil’s eyes widening with surprise as Clint flipped them so that he was the one pressing Phil back into the bed. Sitting up, now stradling Phil’s hips, Clint swallowed, because Phil was laid out before him, his skin glistening with sweat and his pupils nearly swallowing the blue of his eyes.

Clint trailed his hands down Phil’s chest, swallowing heavily as his fingers brushed past Phil’s scar. His movements were slow despite the tremor in his hands, because he could do this now, take his time. All the ways Clint had imagined this seemed irrelevant now that he had reality under his palms, and Clint had to resist the urge to pinch himself, to make sure this was really happening.

“Come here,” Phil whispered, and really, how could Clint resist that?

Leaning down, Clint buried his face in Phil’s throat, bracing himself over Phil on his elbows, and Phil reached up with his free hand to cradle the back of Clint’s neck protectively. Clint gasped, his breathing erratic as their hips rocked together. Phil grasped at Clint’s free hand, linking their fingers together, and Clint grasped it tightly, pressing their joined hands down into the mattress.

Phil shifted his leg so it was between Clint’s, and  _ there _ ,  _ yes _ . Breathing heavily, they moved together with a slow, languid rhythm, and Clint’s eyes flickered shut. He pressed his forehead to Phil’s, and it was so  _ good _ . Clint had missed Phil  _ so much _ \-- his calm voice and warm touch, and to finally have this was almost too much to bear.

Everything was  just the right combination of friction and pressure, and  when Phil groaned out his name, something  _ broke _ inside Clint. Phil’s voice was low and wrecked, the sound echoing through Clint down to his very bones. Dropping his head, Clint pressed whispers into the skin of Phil’s throat, a mix of prayer and apologies, all the words of  _ love _ he was still gathering the courage to voice to Phil’s face. 

Clint whimpered as Phil’s hand closed around his cock, his palm warm and his movements sure. He rolled his hips down to meet Phil’s next long, torturous stroke and Clint wasn’t going to last long if Phil kept that up.  Pleasure built at the base of Clint’s spine, crackling over his skin, and they rocked against each other. Their lips were barely an inch apart, breathing in the same air, and too lost in the heat building between them to kiss, Clint  caught Phil’s bottom lip between his teeth. Not enough to hurt,  but Phil groaned all the same.

The electric heat sparking under Clint’s skin was both too much and not enough all at once, layered on top of the way Clint was drunk on the press of Phil’s  _ skin _ and Clint moaned, low in his throat. His breathing was ragged now,  and Clint’s thrusts became uneven and his control frayed at the edges.

“I’ve got you,” Phil said, and Clint tried to respond, to say anything, but he couldn’t. His whole body was focused on Phil underneath him, the way Phil’s hand was clenched around his, and the ragged edge to Phil’s voice.

Phil kept saying that, as if he needed to convince Clint that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Me, too,” Clint gasped out. “I’m not going anywhere, either. I’m with you. Always.”

“ _ Clint _ ,” Phil hissed, his fingers digging into the flesh of Clint’s back, and apparently that’s what Phil needed to hear.

A few thrusts later, he came with a choked moan, and that was enough to push Clint over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, raw and almost painful, and he collapsed onto the bed,  boneless, his breathing unsteady.

“Shit,” Clint whispered, blinking up at the ceiling, his mind hazy. “ _ Shit _ .”

Phil chuckled weakly, tugging at Clint until they were a pile of sated, sweaty limbs. Clint  curled towards Phil, burrowing his face into the gap between Phil’s jaw and shoulder , shivering as Phil’s hand began absently stroking down Clint’s spine. Not wanting to move, Clint just lay there until his  breathing returned to normal, soaking up Phil’s warm presence. He didn’t want to lift his head, no matter that he didn’t have anything to fear from Phil. He was just… overwhelmed. Thankfully, Phil seemed to understand. He stroked his fingers slowly up and down Clint’s spine, letting Clint take the time he needed.

“I’m sorry,” Clint muttered finally, his voice hoarse.

Underneath him, Phil tensed. “Clint--”

“No, I’m not…” Clint sighed and found the courage to lift his head.

He met Phil’s eyes and swallowed heavily. Phil was flushed and rumpled, and even bruised and scarred, he was beautiful. “I just meant that there’s things I should say, things you need to hear, but I’m a mess right now,” Clint said quietly.

Phil’s eyes softened and crinkled at the corners, and he reached out to cup Clint’s cheek. Clint leaned into the touch. “There’s no rush,” Phil told him.

Clint closed his eyes. “I love you,” he said, the words suddenly bursting out of him.

He blinked open his eyes to find Phil staring at him, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry it’s taken me until now to have the courage to say that,” he added.

Phil’s eyes lit up with  a slowly dawning joy that set off a bittersweet ache deep beneath Clint’s ribs. “Clint,” Phil breathed. “You are the  _ bravest _ man I know.”

Clint smiled, his face feeling strange and a knot of warmth growing in his chest. The smile seemed to stun Phil even further, and Clint leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I love you, too,” Phil said when Clint lifted his head again.

The warmth in Clint’s chest grew larger, spreading out towards his fingers and toes. He leaned in for a kiss, sweet and soft, his breath hitching at how perfect this moment was. Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, Clint sucked in a shaky breath as Phil’s warm, strong arms curled around him. Surrounded by his warmth and the faint musk of his skin, Clint felt safer than he had in a very long time.

Phil ran his hands over Clint’s buzzed hair, smiling fondly, and Clint swallowed. He wasn’t sure what Phil saw, because Clint was only a shadow of the man he’d once been. Yet, even so, the warm love shining in Phil’s eyes was unmistakable. “For the record,” Phil said quietly, his voice thick, “I’m very glad you came back.”

Clint blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes, as Phil’s hands slipped down to cradle Clint’s neck and jaw, and  _ fuck _ .  Phil was beautiful. It had always been true, but tonight it was almost overwhelming. Phil was remarkable and miraculous, strong and solid and perfect, burning from within with a light Clint wanted to sink into and drown in.

“Me too,” he said.

Eventually, Phil dragged himself up and Clint had to fight back the urge to grab him and hold on tight. “Ssh,” Phil whispered, pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple. “I’m just going to wet a towel to clean us up.”

He was gone for less than two minutes, but after he’d tossed the towel back towards the small sink in the corner, Clint curled back towards him and clung. It was stupid, because Phil wasn’t going anywhere, but he still couldn’t force himself to let go.

“Easy,” Phil said, tugging the blankets up around them. “I’m here.”

“I know,” Clint whispered back, his lips brushing against Phil’s skin, and let the truth of it sink into his core.

Phil was here, and he was staying. And maybe, just  _ maybe _ , everything was going to work out okay.

<*>

Clint swam back to consciousness as the bed dipped beside him. He immediately reached out for Phil, but his hand only found blankets. “Phil?” he muttered, squinting open his eyes.

“Sorry,” Phil replied, reaching over to stroke Clint’s jaw. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in cargo pants and a black sweater. “I need to check in with Daisy and Trip in the command center.”

Clint hummed, because Hydra assholes waited for no one. “What time is it?” he said.

Phil smiled softly. “Just after nine,” he said. “You can go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m good,” Clint said, because he was done hiding away. Besides, he needed to find Nick before he disappeared again.

“Okay.” Phil leaned down to kiss Clint’s forehead. “I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed with a smile.

Clint curled over on his side as Phil finished pulling on his boots, returning Phil’s soft smile before Phil disappeared out the door. He lay where he was for a long moment after the door shut. The blankets were musty and a chill was seeping in now that Phil was gone, but Clint couldn’t bring himself to move.

He swallowed heavily. The sheer amount he had to do, amends he had to make, was daunting. Facing up to a life fallen apart was  _ hard _ , especially after last night. Phil’s love and forgiveness had cracked Clint open down the middle, letting light shine on everything he’d buried. Rubbing a hand over his face, Clint sighed. Hiding away in Phil’s room wouldn’t help, no matter how tempting it was. Besides, he’d made a promise to Phil.

Heaving himself out of bed, Clint pulled on last night’s sweatpants and headed back to his own room for a change of clothes and a shower. By the time he made it to the base’s small mess, he was feeling a little less raw and a little more capable of dealing with the fallout from his recent actions. The warm weight of Phil’s dogtags helped, reminding Clint that he wasn’t alone, as did the finger-shaped bruises on his hip.

Clint brushed his own fingers over them as he poured a cup of coffee, and shuffled over to sit at a table. The mess was surprisingly quiet, and Clint needed a moment to gather his thoughts before the chaos of the command center.

Finding out that  _ Hydra _ had been hiding  _ inside _ of SHIELD had shattered more than just Clint’s world. It had broken something bright and innocent at the heart of SHIELD, tarnished the ideal, but Hydra hadn’t destroyed it. There were still good agents fighting for SHIELD’s cause, with SHIELD’s principles. Something was growing up from the ashes and it was past time they all stopped acting as separate pieces.

A thunk of a coffee mug hitting the table made Clint glance up. He blinked as Nick Fury folded himself into the chair opposite him. Nick sipped at the offending coffee as Clint gave himself a mental shake, because the expression on Nick’s face was determined, which meant he probably had something to say.

“Hawk,” Fury greeted.

“Nick,” Clint greeted warily.

Fury huffed out a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and scrubbed a hand over his face. His jaw was covered with silvery stubble, and exhaustion had deepened creases across his face. “You’re still a hard man to pin down,” he said.

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, well, you look like shit,” he replied.

Snorting, Fury shook his head. “Still charming, too,” he said. He studied Clint with a steady gaze, something sad deep in his dark eye. “I owe you an apology, Hawk. More than one, probably. I should have been there when the WSC came to grab you, and I wasn’t.”

Blinking, Clint shook his head. “What? You’re apologizing to  _ me _ ?”

“Of course I am,” Fury said. “You deserved better than to be locked up in a cell after everything you’ve done.”

“You mean like attacking the Helicarrier, working for an insane alien and bringing down an invasion on New York?” Clint said bitterly.

“No, I mean after being mind-controlled by a psychotic alien, helping  _ stop _ an alien invasion of New York and doing your damn best not to hurt your friends,” Fury countered.

Clint blinked again. “What?”

Fury offered Clint the ghost of a smile. “You never  _ miss _ , Hawk,” he said quietly.

Clint frowned. “I  _ know _ ,” he snapped. “What--”

_ Oh _ . Clint never missed. Trickshot had made sure of that, and Clint still had the scars of his lessons. He swallowed heavily. When Loki had given the order for Clint to get him out of Pegasus, he hadn’t specified for Clint to kill. So Clint… hadn’t. Wherever he could, he’d tried his hardest not to injure SHIELD agents, including shooting Fury in the body armour he always wore in the field. He hadn’t taken any kill shots unless Loki had made him.

“You’re a hero, Hawk,” Fury said. “Always have been.”

“ _ Me _ , sir?” Clint said. Was Fury serious? “I’m not the one holding SHIELD together while on the run. Or--”

The words died in Clint’s throat, but he didn’t have to say them aloud. Fury’s gaze softened and he pushed his cup of coffee to the side. “Barton,” he started, but Clint shook his head.

“You brought him back,” he said, voice flat. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms in an effort to hold back the tears. Phil’s death was still a raw wound, and no matter the reality of Phil’s resurrection, that grief wasn’t something Clint could just get over.

Fury stiffened. “I did what I had to do,” he said. “It may not have been easy, or kind, but I’m not going to apologize for it.” He clenched his gaze, suddenly every inch the fearsome Director, and the spark of anger bright in his eye. “I needed someone I could trust without question. I needed  _ Phil _ because he believes in giving people second chances. Because he’s a ruthless son of a bitch when people hurt what he cares about.” Fury sucked in a breath, and for an instant, the mask cracked, and Clint caught a glimpse of the rolling, burning emotions beneath. “You do not get to question me on this,” Fury growled, his mask snapping back into place. “I am  _ well aware _ of the price of my actions, Barton.”

Clint surged forward and grabbed Fury by the forearm before he could climb to his feet. “I’m not… I mean…” he choked out. “I’m  _ grateful _ .”

Fury sagged back into his chair, eyebrows rising. He’d been expecting Clint’s anger, had braced for it because that was what Fury did, but he’d brought Phil  _ back from the dead _ . Clint would  _ never _ be angry for that.

“Seriously, Nick. I don’t think I can ever repay you for this,” Clint said shakily.

Fury snorted. “I didn’t do it so you’d owe me, Hawk.”

Of course he hadn’t. That didn’t mean Clint wasn’t going to owe him anyway. “Does he know?” Clint asked. “What… you did?”

“He knows I brought him back from the dead,” Fury said. “Did you really think I was going to burden him with this, too?”

Clint swallowed. That was so like Fury, taking on the weight of everyone’s sins with no complaint. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. Fury’s expression softened slightly, but Clint continued before he could say anything. “I know you didn’t do any of this for me, but…” Clint cleared his throat. “Phil’s  _ alive _ . So thank you.”

Fury’s lips quirked up into a small, wry smile. “I was going to tell you,” he said. “It’s why I gave you Phil’s dogtags.” He met Clint’s gaze with his own. “I knew you were free from Loki’s influence, and soon as the briefing officially cleared you, I was going to take both you and Natasha to see him. Except--”

“Except the WSC interfered,” Clint finished for him.

Fury nodded. “Yeah.”

“And fucked everything up,” Clint added, and for once the attempt at humour lacked bitterness.

“Things have  _ always  _ been fucked up, Hawk,” Fury said dryly. “They’re just a bit more fucked up than usual right now.”

Clint huffed out a chuckle. “Guess we have to fix that, huh?”

Fury’s gaze turned sharp and Clint met it unflinchingly. Fury  _ always _ had plans and contingencies. “I’m in,” Clint said as Fury opened his mouth. “Whatever you need me to do, Nick. I’m done running.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Hawk,” Fury said. He climbed to his feet. “Now, come on. There’s a certain handler who’s missing your presence in the command center.”

“Yeah,” Clint said with a smile. “Okay.”

<*>

Clint had been present in the command centre Phil and his team had built up, but somehow, stepping into it this morning was different. Clint couldn’t pin down exactly  _ how _ the room had changed, except maybe it wasn’t the room? Maybe it was  _ him _ ? A weight had settled deep in Clint’s chest, but unlike the sinking dread or icy fear he was used to, this was warm and steady, humming along with every beat of his heart. The weight of knowledge that Clint was  _ loved _ .

The command centre wasn’t busy, but Daisy and Trip were pressed together in the corner going over something, and Phil was standing in the middle of the room, glaring fiercely up at a map on the large wall screen. Clint carefully crossed the room to stand beside him. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” he asked quietly.

Phil glanced sideways at him. “What on earth makes you think I suddenly have a plan?” he said.

“Because that’s your ‘I’m about to fuck shit up’ face, Phil,” Clint said, and it felt good to press his shoulder against Phil’s, just as it felt  _ good _ to tease Phil again.

Phil blinked. “My what?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s the face you always make right before shit explodes, and I am all for exploding Hydra, so…” He glanced at Phil. “Whatever the plan is, I’m in.”

Phil blinked again. “I… I don’t actually have a plan,” he said. “Sorry.”

Clint scowled, because there was suddenly a slump to Phil’s shoulders that Clint  _ really _ didn’t like. “No, hey,” he said. “It’s okay to not be the man with the plan, Phil.”

Phil raised a pointed eyebrow and waved a hand at the screen, which now that Clint was paying proper attention, was covered with the locations of all the Hydra bases they knew about. “I’m not sure if a lack of a plan is helpful right now, Clint,” he said.

Reaching down, Clint grabbed Phil’s hand because he could do that now, and tangled their fingers together. “Then we’ll find one,” he said.

Phi snorted. “Just like that?”

Clint tightened his grip on Phil’s hand and smiled softly, ducking his head, when Phil squeezed back. “Maybe not easily,” he said, glancing at the map, because it was kind of stark looking at how much territory Hydra had usurped. “But we’ll find it. It’s what we do.”

Blowing out a big breath, Phil nodded. “Someone has to stop Hydra,” he agreed.

“No,” Clint said. “I mean, yes. Obviously someone has to fight those assholes and it’s definitely going to be us. But that’s not actually what I meant.” He turned to face Phil. “I meant we’re gonna save the world, Phil.  _ That’s _ what we do. Together.”

His eyes widening slightly, Phil stared at Clint. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Together.”

_ Together _ . That sounded like a promise.

Clint smiled.

<*>


	27. Jasper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: So my work schedule changed unexpectedly (and my workload like tripled), so the time I had set aside to finalise and edit the last few chapters of this fic kind of vanished. I’m sorry to everyone reading, but I’m going to have to slow down my posting schedule as a result. I’m hoping to have the next chapter up some time over the weekend, and then hopefully the chapter after that by the end of next week.

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

Jasper hesitated in the doorway. Inside the command center, Phil was hunched over a file, his face creased with exhaustion, which wasn’t entirely surprising. Phil had been like that before his “death”, too. Always ready to give everything to the cause. When he’d been grieving, that was something Jasper had missed the most. That reassuring feeling of having Phil on his side, ready to deal with anything. Or sneak out on a donut run.

They hadn’t really had time to talk since, well,  _ everything _ . Not that Phil hadn’t greeted Jasper when he’d arrived. It was just… Phil was lost, and considering how intimately Jasper knew  _ that _ feeling, he figured it was time to have a chat with an old friend. Plus, Hydra or not, Jasper wanted a happy ending. If not for himself, then he’d be damned if he left two of his best friends alone in their misery.

Except, maybe he didn’t have to?

It was subtle, but the little details were obvious when Jasper got closer. The lines around Phil’s eyes were softer, and while he was clearly tired, the air of hopelessness he’d been carrying was gone. Considering that Hydra hadn’t miraculously rolled over and given up, Jasper was guessing there was only one reason for the change.

“Oh my God,” he said. “Please tell me this means you’ve finally spoken with Clint. About actual human emotions and the fact that you have them in his general presence.”

Phil glanced up with a frown, but there was a spark in his eyes Jasper didn’t think he’d ever seen before, like  _ ever _ . “Hi Jasper, it’s great to see you, too,” Phil said dryly.

Jasper waved that away. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I mean, I was going to tell you again it’s damn good to see you alive and everything, and I will, but fuck, please tell me you had an emotion where Clint could actually see it?”

Phil huffed out a laugh and shook his head, and  _ oh fucking fuck _ . “Wait a minute,” Jasper said, brandishing a finger at Phil. “You had an emotion and fucking slept with him!”

“I am completely capable of multitasking and doing both of those things at the same time,” Phil said, because he was an asshole.

Jasper punched him softly in the shoulder. “As long as we’ve stopped with the ridiculous pining bullshit, I’m happy for you,” he said.

Phil raised an eyebrow, but he was a good friend, so he didn’t actually voice any comments about Jasper’s hypocrisy. Also, Jasper was working on it, but love was a lot more complicated than the fairytailes his  _ abuela _ used to tell him. “Finally, some good fucking news,” Jasper said.

Giving up the pretense of working, Phil walked around the table to slump against it next to Jasper. “How are you doing, Jas?” he asked quietly.

Jasper let out a long breath. Some days were better than others, and Jasper was refusing to think about how some of those better days involved hugs from Nick Fury, because that was still a complicated mess of feelings he wasn’t ready to deal with. “I’m getting there,” he said.

“Good,” Phil said. “Because  _ fuck Hydra _ , seriously.”

A barely-there chuckle pushed its way out of Jasper’s throat. “Fuck them  _ sideways _ ,” he agreed.

Silence fell as the words echoed, until Jasper nodded towards the file Phil had been staring at. “So what are you working on instead of sleeping?” he asked.

“I’m mostly thinking at this point,” Phil said, frowning. “It started with something Maria said to Nick, actually. About the World Security Council, and she was right. SHIELD was supposed to report directly to them, they were our oversight, so why haven’t we heard anything from them after SHIELD fell?”

“It’s not illogical to think they just washed their hands of us, Phil,” Jasper said. “When Hydra emerged, the remains of SHIELD turned into a liability.”

It hurt to say the words out loud, but it was also true, politically speaking. Hydra had corrupted more than just SHIELD’s mission statement.

“Which also logically means that they should have been pulling the strings behind Talbot’s taskforce or the Joint Counter Terrorist Center and Everrett Ross, since they’re the ones who moved in to scoop up whatever SHIELD assets Hydra doesn’t have,” Phil said. “Except the WSC  _ isn’t _ .” Phil glanced at him. “I can’t find their fingerprints on  _ anything _ from two weeks after Hydra revealed themselves.”

Jasper blinked. “So, what? Something forced them into hiding?” he said, and then he cursed as he followed that thought to its conclusion. “Fuck, you think the World Security Council is on the run from  _ Hydra _ ?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said with a heavy sigh. “I just know it’s not good.”

“Actually, it is,” Jasper said, things suddenly slotting together in his mind. At Phil’s blink, he waved a hand, because okay,  _ good _ might not have been the right description. “I mean we can use it. It might give us the edge we need over Hydra.”

Phil frowned. “How?”

Jasper huffed. “Think about it. If Hydra went after the WSC, no way they managed it without someone noticing something. No one can take out people that powerful quietly,” he said. “It was a calculated risk, but they still had to expose themselves to do it.”

Phil hummed. “So we look for known Hydra agents in areas where the various members of the WSC have connections,” he said, following Jasper’s thought. “We use the WSC to find Hydra and Hydra to find the WSC.”

Jasper grinned. “Exactly.”

“Good thinking, Jasper,” Phil replied. He glanced over at the large screen on the wall of the command centre. “I’m just not sure who I can spare to look into this, not if we want to keep figuring out who the Hydra Council is.”

“So don’t,” Jasper said with a shrug. “Leave it to me.”

Phil’s eyes were sharp as they glanced over at Jasper. “Jas, are you…” he said softly.

“Sure?” Jasper said. He blew out a sigh. “I’m going stir crazy with nothing to do. And besides, I’m not talking about going on a mission, I’m talking about research and intel gathering. I am  _ great _ at both of those things.”

“You are,” Phil agreed with a soft smile. “I’m really glad you made it back safe, Jas.”

Jasper swallowed and returned the smile with one of his own. “Yeah, me too.”

<*>

It was easier said than done, of course.

The members of the WSC remained powerful individuals, and their identities had been hidden, even from Nick. Maybe especially from Nick. Either way, even with the potential lead in Hydra’s movements, Jasper had a challenge on his hands.

He hardly had his old network of contacts, because if they were still alive and not actually Hydra assholes, chances were they’d gone to ground. He didn’t exactly have satellites on tap, either. Daisy was nice enough to help, but Jasper didn’t have her skills with computers. So Jasper was going to have to do this the old fashioned way, because one thing Jasper did have was his brain.

Of course, that meant on the ground investigating. In the old days, Jasper would talk to Maria and they’d deploy teams to any locations of interest, but they hardly had the agents for that anymore.

Sighing, Jasper slid his fingers under his glasses to press on his eyes. Fuck Hydra for making this so difficult. Jasper was tired and heartbroken, and what he really needed was his best friend. Except he didn’t…

_ Oh _ . Nick was such a sneaky little  _ shit _ . He’d left Jasper with a burner phone programmed with three numbers: his, Melinda’s and “one for when he really needed it.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jasper swallowed down the swelling hope mixing with the dread at the angry lecture he was no doubt about to receive, and dialled the number. It rang twice in his ear before a gruff voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Maria,” Jasper whispered, blinking back the sudden tears in his eyes.

“Jasper?” Maria said. For one echoing moment of incredulity, she was silent. “Oh, this had better be you calling to give me a really sincere apology for  _ letting me think you were dead, you asshole _ .”

Still blinking back tears, Jasper grinned, because that was his best friend. He really was an ass for not calling her sooner. “It is. I’m really sorry Maria,” he said.

“Yes, well,” Maria replied, her voice thick even as she struggled to hide it. “You had your reasons, what with going undercover with Hydra and then having to go on the run.” She cleared her throat. “If you needed time after that hell, I can understand that.”

Jasper sniffed. “How about we promise never to do it again?”

“Deal,” Maria said. “Because  _ oh my God _ , Sharon kissed me and I had  _ no one to tell _ .”

Jasper blinked. Then he blinked again. “Well,  _ shit _ ,” he breathed.

Maria let out an explosive breath. “Yes, precisely,” she said. “Apparently we’re  _ dating _ now, well I think we are, except for the part where we haven’t actually gone on a date because of Hydra  _ assholes _ .”

The whole way through Maria’s onslaught of a speech, Jasper’s smile had been growing into an outright grin. He was almost glad Maria couldn’t see it.

Maria huffed. “Well,  _ say something _ ,” she snapped.

“I’m happy for you, Maria,” Jasper said softly. He chuckled at Maria’s pointed silence in response. “And,  _ yes _ , I will help you find out if Sharon’s intentions are serious, although I keep telling you she’s had a crush on you for years.”

“I know you have,” Maria replied, “but I’m, well,  _ me _ .”

For all that she showed the world, Maria was just as human as the rest of them, and Jasper was one of the few she trusted with her vulnerabilities. “Maria,” he said firmly, but with gentleness, too. “You are tough, intelligent, drop dead gorgeous and a complete badass. If you weren’t so direct in your refusals when people ask you for things, and therefore intimidating to us mere mortals, you’d have so many offers for dates, you wouldn’t be able to do anything else.”

Maria snorted. “Now that just seems impractical.”

Jasper chuckled. There was his best friend.

“Well,” Maria said briskly. “I’m sure you didn’t just call me to gossip.”

“And to think,” Jasper said dryly. “I haven’t even told you the good stuff yet.”

“Oh?” The sheer amount of disbelief packed into the single syllable might have offended someone else. Jasper just grinned.

“Coulson had a feeling and slept with Barton,” he said, and braced for the reaction.

Maria didn’t disappoint. “Fucking  _ finally _ ,” she said. “ _ Glaciers _ move faster and express more emotion than Coulson when he’s in love.”

Jasper laughed, because it was nice to think about the  _ good _ things that had come out of the last few months. They’d all been through hell in one way or another, and while Jasper had faith, victory against Hydra seemed a long way off. If it was even possible at all.

“Okay,” Maria said. “What’s twisting up your head, Jas?”

Jasper let out a breath. “Many things,” he said. “But right now I’m focusing on Hydra and the World Security Council.”

“Fury passed on my suspicions, then?” Maria asked.

“He did,” Jasper confirmed. “And I’ve been thinking.”

“See? This is why I fucking missed you,” Maria said. “Okay. Lay it on me. What did we miss?”

Maria’s crisp, no-nonsense attitude was soothing. It was nice. “I wouldn’t say you missed anything, exactly,” Jasper said. “You ever get close to finding out the identities of the World Security Council members in those dossiers you didn’t compile and definitely aren’t hiding in your apartment?”

To say that Maria hadn’t taken the WSC’s removal of Fury well would be an understatement.

“A few hints, but nothing definitive,” Maria said. “Why?”

Jasper hummed. “Because I think Hydra has taken the WSC out of the equation somehow.”

“ _ Assassinated _ ?” Maria said. Then she answered her own question. “No, that would have made enough noise that we would probably have heard about it, even as limited as we are. Blackmail? Kidnapping?”

“It may be more subtle than that,” Jasper said. “All Hydra needed to do was curb the WSC’s influence. A few threats, a whisper or two in the right ear, and the WSC may have decided it was in their best interests to ignore Hydra and leave SHIELD to the wolves.”

Maria snorted. “The WSC may be a bunch of sanctimonious assholes, but even I don’t want to believe they’re that cowardly.”

“They may not all be,” Jasper said. “The Councilwoman from the UK doesn’t seem like she’d let a little bribery or blackmail get in her way. Neither did the Chinese Councilman.”

“That still puts us no closer to finding out who they are,” Maria countered. “The WSC was supposed to be anonymous for a reason.”

“There has to be  _ something _ ,” Jasper said, frustration burning through him.

“There will be,” Maria said. “We just have to find it.”

Maria gave him a few more updates and Jasper returned the favour, but even as he hung up the phone, Jasper’s mind was still going over the problem of the WSC. He was missing something, but figuring out what exactly he was missing was a puzzle too complicated for Jasper to solve right now. Or maybe it was just missing too many pieces.

A knock at the door had him glancing up. “Hey, Jas,” Phil said. “Got a minute? There’s something you need to see.”

Jasper raised his eyebrows, but followed anyway. He trusted Phil. “Sounds ominous.”

Phil shot him a small grin and led the way towards what must have been the commanding agent’s office. The room was mostly bare, aside from a desk, chair and a few faded places on the walls where things had once hung. A small dark cube sat in the center of the desk, and Jasper froze in the middle of shutting the door. “Phil,” he hissed, but Phil just grinned a little wider.

“Fuck me,” Jasper breathed. “That  _ is _ what I think it is, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Jas,” Phil said, and Jasper was going to kill him, he really was. “What do you think it is?”

At the power of Jasper’s death glare, Phil gave in and nodded. “It’s the Toolbox,” he said. “Nick gave it to me.”

Even leaving aside how Nick had managed to smuggle  _ the Toolbox _ out of SHIELD while on the run and falsely accused of being a traitor, Jasper had a million questions. They clamoured so loudly in his head it almost hurt.

“Hydra must have been pissed when they couldn’t find it when they took over,” Jasper said instead.

Phil snorted. “The thought warms the heart, doesn’t it?”

Jasper glanced back at the Toolbox. “So why’d you show it to me, Phil?”

“Agent Koenig has only just got it working,” Phil said. “We lost track of fixing up the power supply with everything else going on. I’ve barely had a chance to look at the intel, but…”

“But?” Jasper prompted when Phil trailed off.

Phil turned to him. “Want to bet that Nick has whatever intel he could gather on the WSC stored on that thing?”

Jasper blinked.  _ Nick, you magnificent bastard _ .

“Want to see if we can find it?” Phil asked with a grin.

“Hell yes, Coulson. What kind of question is that?” Jasper said and grinned back.

<*>

It was actually easier than Jasper thought to find all the relevant information the Toolbox had on the WSC, although that made sense. What use was a massive secret database of intelligence if you couldn’t find what you wanted?

Once he’d downloaded the relevant information files onto a Starktab, Jasper had set up a little work station in the old mess hall. The evening before Phil had retreated to join Daisy in the command center to keep tracking -- or trying to track -- Pierce, but Jasper had other things nagging at the back of his mind, even after a decent night’s sleep. Hence seeking out a little peace and quiet, because once the meal rush was over, the mess hall was actually pretty deserted. And also because snacks.

The intel from the Toolbox was  _ good _ , but sorting through it to find what was relevant and not out of date was hard. Jasper had always been good at figuring out puzzles, and Nick was a master at finding bits of information that at first glance didn’t seem related, but ultimately turned out to be connected in ways he hadn’t even considered. What it boiled down to was that the World Security Council had six members. The countries of origin had been relatively easy to work out once Jasper had considered economic potential, disposable black budget funding and population density.

Also, Nick had made notes after every meeting.

As Secretary of SHIELD, Alexander Pierce had had a seat on the WSC, which left five. There was a Councilman from China, a Councilman from India, a Councilwoman from the United Kingdom and two Councilmen from the United States. The latter was a little biased, and it had made Jasper curious, so he’d dug a little. Turned out that the French Councilman had been replaced about five years ago, at Pierce’s recommendation, and if that didn’t scream Hydra trying to stack the deck, Jasper didn’t know what did.

Even with two members of Hydra on the WSC, that still left four politically connected and powerful people for Hydra to neutralize somehow, and that wouldn’t have been easy. Of course, Jasper still had to figure out who they were.

“Come on,” Jasper muttered. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his face, the burning pain in the muscles of his shoulders and neck telling him it had been  _ hours _ since he’d started.

And yet Jasper was no closer to finding out who the members were. It didn’t help that they were all rich and probably had--

Wait.

Could it really be that simple?

Next to the Councilwoman, Nick had made a note about a title. Except, what if ‘title’  _ didn’t _ mean a clue to a military rank or mark of education? What if Jasper had overlooked the obvious and ridiculous link to  _ aristocratic titles _ ? Because the WSC was probably exactly that  clichéd .

Jasper cross-checked the known information about the Councilwoman against all the current peers of the United Kingdom he could find via internet search, and just like that, he had it. The name of one of the WSC members: Lady Elizabeth Hawley.

Once Jasper made the first connection, the rest of it just sort of fell into place. Jasper followed the trails and by the time his snacks were gone and the growling of his stomach was getting too loud to ignore, he had it. The name of every member of the WSC.

Now he just needed to tell everyone.

<*>

The next morning, Jasper called a meeting. Nick had arrived back late the night before, and it seemed like too good an opportunity to waste. Although, Jasper wasn’t stupid, so he ducked into the kitchens to grab a cup of coffee before everything kicked off. He’d just finished doctoring the black sludge masquerading as a caffeinated beverage with milk when Phil shuffled in at what was actually a reasonable hour of the morning. Phil headed straight for the coffee pot without acknowledging Jasper and practically stuck his nose in the mug as soon as it was poured.

“Feeling a little sleep deprived, Coulson?” Jasper couldn’t resist teasing. “Something got you staying up all night?”

Phil shot him a glare, but the effect was ruined by the smile he couldn’t suppress. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said blandly.

“Uh huh,” Jasper said, but all further mocking was cut off by Steve Rogers appearing in the doorway.

Jasper blinked. Rogers blinked back, although why the supersoldier was surprised, Jasper had no idea.

Rogers cleared his throat. “Agent Sitwell,” he greeted. “Coulson.”

“Captain,” Phil said levelly, like he wasn’t inwardly losing his shit.

When Rogers continued to hover awkwardly in the doorway, Jasper rolled his eyes. “If you’re still worried about the whole kidnapping me and holding me at gunpoint thing, it’s all forgiven,” he said.

Forgiven, but not forgotten. Of course, it hardly compared to the most pants-shittingly terrifying experience of Jasper’s entire existence, which was being undercover with Hydra.

Phil choked on his coffee. “Captain America  _ kidnapped you _ ?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Technically, Wilson did the kidnapping,” Jasper told him. “And to be fair, they did give me a chance to explain the whole Hydra thing.”

Jasper sipped his coffee as Phil and Rogers continued to stare at him.

“See, I told you Jasper was cool,” a voice drawled behind Steve.

Jasper blinked again, because that had sounded just like Barnes. Sheepishly, Rogers took a step to the side to reveal Barnes and a bemused Sam Wilson, who’d been hidden behind him. Jasper raised his mug in toast to both of them. “James, Wilson,” he said. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

“You know,” Wilson said. “Most people would be holding a grudge over being kidnapped. Or you know, a little more upset about the whole thing.”

“SHIELD agent,” Jasper and Phil said at exactly the same time, and Jasper ignored the bittersweet pang in his chest. He was going to consider himself a SHIELD agent as long as other former agents like him and Phil kept fighting. “Besides,” Jasper added. “That wasn’t even the first time people shoved a gun in my face that week.”

Wilson grinned. “Okay, so I hate to agree with Barnes, but he’s right: Sitwell  _ is _ cool.”

“He’s an adrenaline junkie, that’s what he is,” Melinda May said, and both Barnes and Wilson jumped. They clearly hadn’t been hanging around Romanoff enough.

“SHIELD agent,” Phil said again.

Melinda side-eyed all three of the reluctant superheroes loitering in the doorway, and walked into the kitchen. Jasper expected her to go and stand beside Phil, or maybe make a cup of tea, but instead she moved up to stand beside  _ Jasper _ . Jasper swallowed his coffee and tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t suddenly in his throat.

“Briefing is ready whenever you are,” she told him, and of course. Melinda had only appeared to deliver a message.

Except, a beat later, her fingers brushed against his. The touch was brief and Jasper probably didn’t breathe for the entire time, but Melinda’s fingers had  _ definitely _ curled around his and squeezed gently before they let go.

Jasper cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said roughly.

Melinda smiled softly at him. “You’re welcome,” she replied.

She sent Rogers, Wilson and Barnes the same side-eye as she left, and Jasper had to bite back an almost overwhelming urge to turn to Phil and ask what had just happened, because he’d had dreams like this. Of course, his last dream of holding Melinda May’s hand had less Steve Rogers in it. That was more Coulson’s thing than his.

“Right,” Jasper said, shoving away his confusion for later. “Better get to it.”

Wilson raised both eyebrows. “And what exactly are we being briefed about?” he asked.

“Why don’t you join us and find out,” Jasper said dryly.

They all reconvened in the command center. Daisy, Trip, Simmons and Bobbi were already there, going over reports as they waited, and Melinda had joined Nick near the front of the room. Whatever hushed conversation they were having was cut off by Jasper’s entrance and the others trailing behind him, but Nick smiled and gave him a reassuring nod that Jasper had no idea how to deal with.

“Everyone here?” Jasper asked as he walked towards Nick and Melinda. He might not be privy to their conversation, or really know what to do with the storm of tangled emotions in his chest that was related to both of them, but it was still nice to stand near both Nick and Melinda. Safer.

“We’re just waiting on one more,” Nick said.

Jasper frowned, but before he could ask who it was, the last person Jasper expected sailed into the room. Maria was dressed in dark jeans, boots and a leather jacket and a forbidding expression not softened one bit by the stylish blonde figure of Sharon Carter following in her wake. “Sorry I’m late,” Maria said.

“Maria?” Jasper said, because he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that she wasn’t actually on the other side of the world. He hadn’t finished his morning coffee yet, okay?

“Jas,” Maria replied. She narrowed her eyes at the surprise on everyone else’s faces. “What?” she snapped. “Oh come on. What’s the point of being friends with Tony Stark if he can’t smuggle you out of one country and into another on his fancy jet?”

“Um, because I also come with several other excellent qualities?” Stark himself drawled, wandering into the command centre with Colonel Rhodes following behind him.

“Stark,” Rogers said from where he’d been standing in the corner of the room.

“Rogers,” Stark replied, watching the Captain over the top of his ridiculous glasses.

“You can measure each other’s dicks later, boys,” Maria broke in, her sharp blue eyes fixed on Jasper. “Jasper’s found something.”

Jasper raised his eyebrows, because he wasn’t even going to ask how she knew. “Oh, not just something,” he said. “I worked out who the members of the World Security Council are.”

The silence was delicious. Jasper let some of his amusement show in a smirk, because damn right he was awesome, and then got back to the business of the briefing. “So, this comes with good news and bad news,” he said. “Good news: now that we know who the members are, we can track them. Bad news: I’m pretty sure at least two of them are Hydra.”

Maria groaned. “ _ Of course _ ,” she muttered. Her gaze sharpened as it settled on Jasper. “How do you know?”

“Well, Pierce is obvious,” Jasper said dryly. “However, about six months before this fuckery started, the French Councilman was forced to resign from the WSC under somewhat shady circumstances. His replacement was a second businessman from the US -- in addition to Councilman Rockwell -- which according to WSC regulations shouldn’t happen. And he was appointed at Pierce’s recommendation, so I’m pretty sure that means he’s Hydra.”

Wilson raised his hand. Jasper squinted at him, but Wilson wasn’t mocking him. “Uh, for those of us who are new to the spy thing, can you maybe start at the beginning?” he said.

Jasper opened his mouth, but naturally Tony Stark beat him to it. “Yes, Agent Sitwell, why don’t you share with the rest of the class?” he said, but when he wandered over to pick up one of the Starkpads littering the tables, Daisy snatched it away.

“No,” Daisy said firmly.

Stark blinked like no one had ever said the word ‘no’ to him in his life, which was ridiculously untrue.

“I know you’re like a genius and everything,” Daisy said, raising her chin, “but this is my system, so like, no touching, okay?”

Stark raised his hands and backed off, but the gleam in his eyes probably meant he was about to make some sort of obscenely well-paid offer to get Daisy to work for him. Jasper resolved to warn Phil, although judging by the narrow-eyed glare on Phil’s face, that warning was probably unnecessary. “Just trying to help,” Stark said. “It’s a nice set-up, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Daisy said, skeptically.

“Can we maybe focus on the WSC?” Melinda broke in mildly.

Jasper took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said, glancing towards Daisy. She nodded back, her fingers poised over her Starktab. “So the members of the WSC are Alexander Pierce, Nagendra Singh, Yen Ming, Alan Rockwell, Baroness Elizabeth Hawley, and the second Hydra councilman, Gideon Malick.”

As Jasper spoke, Daisy made six black silhouettes appear on the large screen on the wall, each complete with a name next to them. Jasper stared at it, and the sliver of hope deep in his chest warmed and grew. Hydra might consider them defeated, but they weren’t.

Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

“Wait, Malick?” Stark said. “As in the CEO of Gothite Industries?”

“This the guy?” Daisy asked, and several candid photographs appeared on the big screen. Malick looked to be in his late fifties or maybe older, dressed in expensive suits.

“That’s Malick,” Stark said. “Real ruthless son of a bitch. I never liked him.”

Daisy tapped her Starktab again and a new window popped up on the screen. It appeared to be a press conference announcing some sort of new development, but as the video started playing, Jasper was far more interested in how Nick suddenly tensed.

“He’s definitely on the WSC,” Nick said. “I know that voice. He was one of the members pushing hard to nuke New York.”

“Great,” Stark said, his dark eyes glinting dangerously, and Jasper was suddenly reminded that Stark had been the one to almost die trying to stop that nuke. “So how are we taking him out?”

Fuck, the Battle of New York felt like so long ago.

“I have a question,” Rogers said. He’d been quiet up until now, and in hindsight, that should have concerned Jasper. The Captain was not a stupid man. “Why are we so concerned with the World Security Council?”

“Because, Captain,” Nick replied. “We haven’t heard anything from them since Hydra revealed themselves.”

Rogers narrowed his eyes. “You think the council members are in danger?”

“Uh,” Daisy said. She tapped her Starktab, ever the efficient information gatherer -- and seriously, Jasper was going to steal her at least partially for one of his analyst teams when this was all over -- and on the screen, several news clippings appeared. “I think that’s a definite yes.”

The headlines were not good. Councilman Yen -- also former Chinese  _ Defense Minister _ Yen, fuck -- was reportedly still in ICU after his motorcade was hit by a ‘terrorist incident’, whatever that meant, and Councilman Singh had retreated to his country estate after an unspecified illness. The fact that Hydra  _ had _ managed two attempted assassinations without the remains of SHIELD noticing was more than worrying.

“Councilman Rockwell has also dropped out of the public eye recently,” Daisy said.

Maria walked forwards so she could get a better view of the screen. “So, Rockwell gave in to the blackmail or bribery, or maybe is just in hiding, but Hydra almost took out Singh and Yen,” she said. “Not to state the obvious, but this isn’t good.”

“We could probably spare enough resources to go after Rockwell,” Melinda said. “Offer protection in exchange for information?”

“Uh, not to interrupt the little spy summit you’ve got going on over there,” Stark said, “but you also have -- what, four? -- superheroes at your disposal?”

“Four?” Maria said, turning to Stark and arching an eyebrow.

Stark clapped his hand over his heart. “I know I have yet to win you over with my abundant charms, Commander, but you can’t deny Wilson and Rhodey are as much superheroes as the Good Captain and his chiselled jaw.”

“Oh, Rhodes and Wilson are  _ definitely _ heroes,” Maria said, letting the implication hang heavily in the air.

Jasper cocked his head to the side, letting the bickering wash over him, comforting in its familiarity. “We might be able to get some information out of Rockwell or Singh,” he said, “but you’re missing the more obvious choice.”

“Oh?” Nick said, his dark eye fixed on Jasper with interest.

“Yeah,” Jasper agreed. “Baroness Hawley.”

“You mean the same Baroness Hawley who’s attending a function in London tomorrow?” Daisy said with a sly smile and a wink to Jasper.

Nick hummed thoughtfully. “She’s not in hiding.” He shot a glance at Jasper. “You think Hydra hasn’t gotten to her yet?”

“Or she’s resisting their demands for the moment,” Jasper replied.

“I think it might be more complicated than that,” Trip interrupted. He’d retreated to the corner, but when he saw he had the room’s attention, he stood up and turned his laptop screen towards Daisy. “I was going over recent photographs of the Baroness, and there’s one woman who keeps appearing in them, so I did a little digging.”

As Daisy transferred the photographs onto the big screen, Jasper resolved to steal Trip away for one of his analyst teams, too.

“Who is she?” Nick asked.

The photographs showed an elegant older woman with dark blonde hair and what appeared to be a large collection of diamonds, at least based on how she never seemed to be wearing the same ones twice.

“Her name is Baroness Hilda Zemo,” Trip said. “Before three weeks ago, I can’t find a single photograph of her and Hawley together.”

Bingo. Hydra had gotten confident, and now Jasper had them.

“She’s the second daughter of an English Earl, but she married Heinrich Zemo, a Sokovian Baron,” Trip continued. “They have a son, too.”

“That’s the second connection we’ve got to Sokovia,” Phil said.

“Oh, yeah, there’s a big Hydra research facility there,” Barnes said from the corner he’d been skulking in. “Up in the mountains.”

He shrugged when everyone turned to stare at him, but it couldn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve been there?” Phil asked.

“Once,” Barnes said. “When they had to fix my arm.”

“You think Baroness Zemo is a messenger for Hydra?” Maria said.

Beside her, Sharon shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“No.” The word was out of Jasper’s mouth before he’d finished thinking it through. “If I’m right, and Hawley is a Councilwoman, then Hydra wouldn’t just send anyone to threaten her. Especially not now that Hydra thinks they’ve won.”

“Wait,” Maria. “You think Baroness Zemo is on the  _ Hydra Council _ ?”

An itch started between Jasper’s shoulders and he turned to find Stark watching him with a sharp gaze. “He’s right,” Stark said. “It makes sense.”

“It does,” Rogers agreed, and no, Jasper was  _ absolutely not _ going to get flustered because two Avengers were agreeing with him. “Hydra have always been arrogant.”

“So what’s the plan?” Sharon asked, because at heart she was a practical soul -- just like her great aunt.

Jasper stared up at the photographs of Baroness Hawley and smiled. “I think it’s time we had a chat with Councilwoman Hawley.”

<*>

_ Baroness Hawley’s apartment, Mayfair, London _

Breaking into Councilwoman Hawley’s Mayfair apartment was surprisingly easy. After everything, Jasper had expected more of a challenge, and his nerves still weren’t entirely sure this wasn’t a trap. When no one burst out from behind a door to arrest him -- or worse -- Jasper quickly and efficiently searched the apartment, but there was nothing interesting to find. Jasper used a handy gizmo Nick had given him to copy the hard drive of Hawley’s laptop all the same, because who knew what Daisy and Trip would be able to find.

Then he settled in to wait.

Both Nick and Melinda had insisted on accompanying him, at least from a distance, so Jasper would have backup if he needed, but he didn’t think he would. Hawley was a smart woman -- she had to be, to sit on the World Security Council -- and any useful intelligence they were going to get would be directly from her. Hopefully Hawley wouldn’t call her security detail on Jasper before he got the answers he was after.

“How are you doing?” Melinda asked over the comm.

“There’s nothing here,” Jasper admitted with a sigh. “Any sign of Hawley yet?”

“She just left the restaurant,” Melinda said. “ETA about ten minutes.”

Jasper settled deeper into Hawley’s frankly obscenely comfortable couch. “Great,” he said.

“Jas…” Nick growled, because he worried like a mother hen.

He rolled his eyes. “Hawley and I are just going to have a little talk, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Besides, I have you both watching my back, right?”

A cool breeze brushing against his skin had Jasper reaching for his gun and glancing towards the balcony doors. He huffed when Nick carefully shut them behind him, his long black coat swaying about his legs and his distinctive figure illuminated in a shaft of moonlight. Jasper wasn’t even going to ask how Nick had gotten onto the penthouse balcony.

Nick raised both hands at Jasper’s glare. “You won’t even see me,” he said, because it was hardly a secret that Nick enjoyed lurking in the shadows -- where else had Jasper gotten the idea? “I’m just back up, remember?”

Jasper huffed. “Fine,” he agreed, and true to his word, Nick melted back into the shadows until he was practically invisible.

The silence that fell while they waited was strangely companionable, and Jasper’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Not a lot -- he was waiting for a very powerful woman on her home turf, after all -- but enough. It was hard not to feel a little invulnerable with both Melinda May and Nick Fury watching his back.

A few minutes later, Melinda reported in. “Hawley and her security detail just pulled into the car park,” she said.

“Copy that,” Jasper said, reaching up to thumb the switch of the nearby lamp.

Hawley dismissed her security detail at the door and switched on the lights in the hall as she entered, her footsteps precise on the wooden floor. However, before Hawley could switch on the living room light, Jasper flipped on the lamp.

“Hello Councilwoman Hawley,” he said. “Do you have time for a quick chat?”

The trick was possibly a bit melodramatic, but Jasper hadn’t been able to resist. To her credit, Hawley only took one step back in surprise, her hand coming up to her throat, before her face smoothed out. She lifted her chin and met Jasper’s eyes, her own sparking with barely concealed anger. “I’ve told Hydra before that I don’t care how many thugs you send to intimidate me, I’m not giving you what you want.”

Jasper resisted the urge to scowl. “I’m not Hydra,” he said.

Hawley snorted. “Please,” she shot back. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the reports.”

_ Interesting _ . That meant that at least in the beginning, the World Security Council  _ had _ been monitoring the situation, although if Jasper later found out they’d know about Hydra  _ before _ the big reveal, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his actions.

“Actually, I was a triple agent,” Jasper said with a smile he was certain didn’t reach his eyes. “As well versed in espionage as you are, I’m sure you’ve heard of those before?”

Hawley scoffed. “I’ve been condescended to by men more powerful than you,” she said. “So get to the point.”

Jasper smiled. In other circumstances, he might actually like Baroness Hawley. “We know you’ve been approached by Hydra,” he said. “What do they want?”

“Shouldn’t you already know?” Hawley snapped, and the bitterness in her voice surprised Jasper.

He swallowed. “Maybe,” he conceded softly, because SHIELD had been an intelligence organization after all. “But despite everything, we’re still trying to stop Hydra and their plans. That’s got to count for something, right?”

Hawley met Jasper’s gaze and let out a breath. “Yes, maybe it does,” she said. Taking a few steps into the living room, she took a seat in the chair opposite Jasper. “In answer to your question, aside from wanting me to work for them, they wanted me to take a trip to France. I believe they were getting close to being rather… forcible about it.”

Kidnapping a Baroness was hardly an easy endeavour, which meant Hydra was either getting cocky or desperate.

“Any idea why?” Jasper asked.

“No,” Hawley said shortly.

Jasper nodded. “We can offer protection. Make sure that even if they try, they won’t get to you.”

Hawley snorted. “Oh, really? And how exactly do you propose to manage that?”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, and he couldn’t keep the bite from his voice. “We do have one of the world’s best undercover agents working for us, despite your attempts to lock her up at a black site for the rest of her life.”

Hawley flinched at his words. “I admit, that was a very short-sighted strategy,” she said. “I counseled against it at the time, but I suppose that doesn’t prevent me from being culpable.”

“No,” Jasper said, the slow burn of anger warming his stomach. Natasha, Clint and all the other agents that the WSC had abandoned or imprisoned probably wouldn’t care that Hawley felt guilty. “It doesn’t.”

Slowly, Jasper rose to his feet. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “And if you come across any other information on Hydra, don’t forget to pass it on.”

Jasper moved to leave, but something stopped him. Maybe it was Hawley’s hunched shoulders, or the way she suddenly refused to look at him. “Do you think you’ll manage it?” she asked, a faint tremor in her voice. “Defeat Hydra?”

“Honestly?” Jasper said. “I don’t know.” And he didn’t. SHIELD was scattered, stripped of resources, and a shadow of its former glory. All Jasper  _ did _ know was that he was going to try, because if there was even a tiny chance they could defeat Hydra, he was going to take it. That was the oath he’d sworn, and just because SHIELD no longer officially existed, Jasper wasn’t going to stop following it.

“I guess one way or another, we’ll find out, won’t we?” he told Hawley. He inclined his head. “Thank you for your cooperation, Councilwoman.”

Turning to leave, Jasper headed for the door and didn’t look back, not even when Hawley gasped, no doubt as Nick finally stepped out of the shadows. He let himself out of the apartment and made just inside the rear stairwell before Nick’s hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Wha--” he managed before Nick was crowding him back against the wall and Nick’s lips descended on his.

Jasper fisted his hands in Nick’s coat and hauled him closer, opening his mouth under Nick’s as the kiss turned hot and wet. This was probably a really stupid idea, and Jasper’s feelings for Nick were already complicated and out of control, but he’d loved Nick for so long he was helpless to refuse this when it was offered. If it hurt later, well, it would still be worth it.

The loud clearing of a throat had Nick backing off as Jasper slumped back against the wall and blinked up at him, panting slightly.

“Is now really the time?” Melinda said dryly, and hey, when had she arrived?

Jasper’s brain was still a little scrambled from the scorching kiss or he might have questioned the very speaking look Nick and Melinda shared, but he could barely gather his wits right now.

“Sorry,” Nick said sheepishly.

Melinda huffed, and Jasper could have sworn her gaze lingered on  _ Jasper _ . Specifically, on where Nick’s hand had slid under Jasper’s shirt, and hey when had that happened?

Nick bent and pressed a kiss to Jasper’s cheek. “We’ll continue this later,” he whispered before he stepped back.

Jasper shivered. “Okay?”

What? He was hardly stupid enough to say say no to that.

“Come on,” Melinda said.

Straightening his clothes, Jasper headed down the stairs towards Melinda, Nick following behind him. When he reached where Melinda was waiting, he opened his mouth, although what the hell was he going to say? He wasn’t sorry Nick had kissed him, but he was sorry if that had hurt Melinda.

Thankfully, before he could say anything, Melinda rolled her eyes. “Later,” she said. Then she leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

Jasper blinked again, staring blankly at the space where Melinda had been. He was officially  _ confused _ , because  _ what _ ? A gentle poke from Nick got him moving, and okay so Jasper could work out what the hell was going on later.

And suddenly,  _ later _ didn’t feel so ominous after all.

<*>


	28. Phil

_ Old SSR Bunker, near Strand Station, London _

“So, how’s it looking?” Nick asked as he stepped up beside Phil.

Taking a sip of coffee, Phil hummed. “Getting there,” he said, and they were. Thanks to Jasper’s chat with Baroness Hawley, they had a way to get to Hydra, although Phil wanted better intel before they did -- knowledge was power, after all.

He glanced sideways at his best friend and smiled. The creases around Nick’s eye were softer and his shoulders definitely looked more relaxed. “How’s things with Jasper and Melinda?” he asked.

Nick smiled softly, and happiness was a good look on him. “Getting there,” he mimicked.

Phil snorted and took another sip of coffee. “I’m glad,” he said quietly.

Nick brushed their shoulders together. “Thanks, Cheese.”

They fell into companionable silence, and Phil lost himself to staring at the large screen in the middle of the command centre. Now that the identities of the World Security Council had led them to Baroness Zemo, Phil was hoping they could finally figure out the remaining members of Hydra’s ruling council. Hydra was fond of the saying ‘cut off one head and another will take their place’, and Phil was interested to see if that was still true if all of the heads died at once.

Eventually, Nick moved away after clapping Phil on the shoulder, but Phil remained, staring up at the screen. He was tempted to read over the gathered intel again, but by this point he was close to memorizing it. There had to be  _ something _ . One puzzle piece falling into place that would trigger all of the others.

The scent of coffee and warm brush of fingers against his made Phil smile and tore his attention away from the screen. Clint smiled a little shyly as he exchanged Phil’s cold, empty mug for a full one. “So,” Clint said after he’d put the empty mug down on a nearby table. “What do we know?”

Phil blinked. Clint looked better -- there were still dark shadows haunting his eyes, and he needed sleep and food and someone to take care of him for a while, but he was better, and Phil couldn’t stop the way he had to curl the fingers of his free hand around Clint’s. Just to be reminded that Clint was solid and real and next to him.

“What do we know?” Phil asked, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “That brain of yours is stuck on something, so what do we know?”

Phil let out a breath. “Well, thanks to Councilwoman Hawley, we’ve confirmed that Baroness Hilda Zemo sits on the Hydra Council,” he said. “Her background didn’t show anything particularly interesting -- she was born the second daughter of the Earl of Coventry, educated at numerous elite boarding schools -- until we noticed the dates. Hilda Zemo was born in 1916 and she married Heinrich Zemo in 1933.”

“Well, that’s fucked,” Clint said.

Phil hummed in agreement. “I believe Jemma and Bobbi are looking into the immortality angle, particularly since Whitehall, another of the suspected Hydra heads, has also lived a lot longer than a normal human should.”

“And Strucker, too, right?” Clint said. At Phil’s curious glance, he shrugged with one shoulder. “Nat and I have been going over the intel.”

Pointed out like that, the trend between Hydra leadership and immortality was worrying. “You know, I really didn’t expect to have to fight immortal Nazis in my life, even after I joined SHIELD and realized how weird the world is,” Phil said dryly.

Clint snorted. “Says the man who  _ came back from the dead _ .”

Phil’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Clint to joke about Phil’s death quite so soon, but while his shoulders were tense, Clint’s chin was tilted up in defiance because  _ of course _ Clint would face down his fears. He was one of the bravest men Phil had ever known and maybe one day, evidence of that would stop rendering Phil breathless and weak at the knees. Maybe.

The corner of Clint’s mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile before glancing back at the large screen. “Steve’s going to want to know,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, because Hydra turned out to not just be following the original Nazi ideology, but was ruled by original Nazis.

“I can tell him if you like?” Clint offered. “If you trust me to relay the briefing right.”

Phil glanced at Clint, not liking his sardonic tone  _ one bit _ . He gently tugged on Clint’s hand until Clint was facing him. “You forget, Clint Barton,” he said as firmly as he could manage. “I know how smart you are. And how compassionate. If you want to break this to… Steve, then I trust you.”

Clint swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing. He smirked, but his bright eyes betrayed him. “It’s a struggle to call Rogers by his first name for you, isn’t it?”

Phil sent Clint his own smirk. “No,” he said. “Steve and I bonded over being old soldiers. We’re buddies now.”

Clint chuckled. “The bromance of the ages,” he teased.

“No, I’m not greedy,” Phil replied, because as much as he would treasure getting to spend time with the man behind the hero that had meant so much to him growing up, there was one thing he would forever be more grateful for. “I’ve already got the romance of the ages, and I’m content with that. No, I’m  _ deliriously happy _ with that.”

Clint gaped, his face flushing red before he buried it in Phil’s shoulder. “Oh my God,” he groaned into Phil’s sweater.

“Too much?” Phil asked.

Clint fluttered his free hand. “No, I just… warn a guy, Phil, seriously.”

Thankfully, Phil was prevented from replying by Maria’s somewhat dramatic entrance. “All right, people,” she said as she stalked in. “I’ve got something.”

She immediately headed towards Phil, but Phil was no stranger to Maria with something on her mind, and merely sipped his coffee. “Oh?” he said.

“Did you break Barton?” Maria said, her gaze flicking down and back up so she could arch an eyebrow at Phil.

“No,” Phil said mildly, like Clint wasn’t still burying his face in Phil’s shoulder. Although, as far as Phil was concerned, Clint could do that as long as he liked.

“Okay,” Maria said. “So, I have surveillance photos you’ll want to see.” A fierce light was burning in Maria’s sharp eyes, and that kind of fire usually spelled trouble for their enemies. “J.A.R.V.I.S. finally got a hit on the mysterious ‘Lighthouse’.”

She held out a Starktab towards Phil, smirking when Phil neither relinquished his coffee mug or his grip on Clint’s hand to take it. He was a little disappointed when Clint straightened up so that he could also watch. Maria flipped across several photographs that showed Sunil Bakshi meeting with an older, grey-haired gentleman climbing out of a limousine.

“Do you-” Phil said.

“Have a name?” Maria interrupted. “Of course. Well, J.A.R.V.I.S. found it. The man in the photos with Bakshi is Octavian Bloom.”

Clint snorted. “Seriously?”

“What do we know about him?” Phil asked.

“Not much,” Maria said. “He’s wealthy, powerful and secretive, and if not for Bakshi’s contact with him, we wouldn’t have found him at all.”

“That’s five,” Phil said quietly. The weight on Phil’s shoulders was slowly lifting, like the constant drip eroding rock. It hadn’t been obvious, but it was building. Every puzzle piece, every link and every fraction of intel was getting them closer to Hydra, to finally stopping them for  _ good _ .

“Five?” Maria asked, glancing at Phil out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah,” Daisy replied, her fingers tapping on her ever-present Starktab. She and Trip had been working quietly in the corner, as usual, but Daisy had wandered over at Maria’s announcement.

“Based on the highly encrypted messages Hydra was sending, we speculated there were six members of the Hydra council. Six heads.” She tapped the Starktab and photographs and names began replacing the six black silhouettes on the screen. “Pierce. Baroness Zemo. Strucker, or whoever his proxy is. Whitehall. And Lighthouse, otherwise known as Octavian Bloom.”

“We might have a lead on who Strucker is using as a proxy, too,” Trip added, also joining them. “I’ve been going over the data Daisy pulled from Zola’s bunker in Poland. I found some encrypted messages being sent to a location in Sokovia. The same location that Barnes identified as Hydra’s research base.”

“Messages from  _ whom _ ?” Maria said, her eyes narrowing.

“I only cracked the encryption enough to find an email address, but best as I can tell, the messages were sent by someone called Dr. Frederik List,” Trip said.

“Wait, List?” Clint said, pulling away from Phil, his eyes locked on Trip. “As in former SHIELD R&D scientist Dr. List?”

Phil froze and he had to concentrate on making himself suck in a deep breath. “You’re sure?” he said faintly, but Clint wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t.

Clint nodded. “I saw him in R&D all the time when I was getting my bow fixed.”

Sucking in another deep breath, Phil loosened his white-knuckled grip on his coffee mug. Just when he thought they’d suffered through all the hurts and betrayals of Hydra inside SHIELD, another one revealed itself.

“Fuck,” Maria said, her face pale, and turned her Starktab around. The screen very clearly showed the SHIELD personnel file for Dr. Frederik List.

“An R&D scientist?” Daisy said. “I thought Whitehall ran the R&D for Hydra?”

“According to Bobbi’s intel, he does,” Daisy confirmed.

“I know I’m really not going to like the answer to this,” Clint said, “but that means that whatever List is working on for Hydra is a personal project, right?”

Phil hummed. “And specifically tied to whatever Hydra is researching at that Sokovian base.”

“Fuck,” Maria muttered again. “Considering List is an expert in genetics and biochemistry, I’m with Barton on this one -- I don’t think I want to know any answers.”

Phil agreed, but they hardly had a choice. Whatever Hydra was up to at the Sokovian Research Base had just jumped up the priority list. They needed to find out what was going on and stop it.

“We should get Jemma in on this,” Daisy said brightly. “She’s a biochemist, she’ll help.”

Maria arched an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, Phil interrupted. “Yes. Good idea, Daisy,” he said.

Maria let out a sharp breath. “Okay, moving away from Hydra’s no doubt horrifying research,” she said. “We need--” She cut herself off and glanced at Trip. “Wait. If List is sending encrypted messages to Sokovia, that implies he’s  _ not in _ Sokovia. That’s why you think he’s Strucker’s proxy.”

Trip nodded. “As far as I can tell, the messages were sent across Europe.”

Phil blinked, connecting the dots. “As if List was on the move.”

“Well, shit,” Clint agreed.

“Okay,” Daisy said, tapping her Starktab. On the large screen, Strucker’s silhouette retreated to the corner and another with List’s photo appeared among the six listed for the Council. “That still only gives us five.”

“Malick,” Clint breathed. “If Pierce is one of these ‘heads’ of Hydra, what about the other guy he got elected to the World Security Council? I mean, we already know he’s Hydra.”

_ Oh fuck _ . It made sense. Pierce wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble for just anyone, not unless Malick was a very senior Hydra agent.

“I did a little research into Malick,” Trip said. “His family has ties to Hydra. They’re not always obvious, but they’re there.”

“So that’s it,” Maria said. “We have our targets.”

“We have more than that,” Phil said, his brain was still whirling. Ultimately, Hydra was selfish, because cooperating for the ‘greater good’ wasn’t really their thing -- it was more like ‘cooperate for now because we have mutual goals’. It was a weakness that could be exploited, but more than that, it meant Pierce wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to have Malick elected to the World Security Council if he wasn’t getting something out of the deal, too.

“We’ve speculated on the infighting within Hydra before, but there’s a split. You can see it,” Phil continued. “Pierce is on one side. He’s got Garrett and Ward for muscle, and Malick and his resources.”

“Malick?” Maria said, blinking.

“It’s why Pierce got Malick elected to the WSC,” Phil replied. “So Malick would side with him.”

Maria hummed thoughtfully. “And who’s on the other side? Strucker and List?”

“No, it’s Bloom,” Daisy interrupted before Phil could say anything.

Phil glanced at her, because that’s what he’d been thinking, too. He nodded. “If Strucker was personally recruited by Schmidt like we suspect, then he’s the old power inside Hydra. Whitehall, too maybe. None of the others would want the risk of challenging Strucker, but Strucker has also isolated himself, which has allowed--”

“Bloom and Pierce to fight over the remaining power and resources,” Maria finished for him. “That’s why Bloom has Bakshi working for him. Bakshi would hardly go behind the back of someone like Whitehall, unless it was to gain favour with someone who had even more power.”

Phil ran a hand over his face. “I’m not sure where that actually puts us, but it’s something.”

“What it does is give us a plan,” Maria said. She glanced at Phil. “Fury had you trying to identify who was ruling Hydra because he wants to cut off the head of the snake. Except there’s more to Hydra than just the head. If we stand any chance of limiting their influence and actually stopping them, we need to take out more than just this ruling council. We need to take out their major cells, too.”

“A strike on everything at once,” Clint said as he shifted closer to Phil, his calloused fingers wrapping around Phil’s again.

“Maybe not everything,” Maria conceded. “We’re barely a ragtag bunch of rogue agents at best, but if we time it right, we can hit Garrett’s base and several of the others right before the Hydra council meets.” She slid a glance towards Phil. “Take out some major infrastructure and their leadership in twenty four hours. And hopefully, send the rest of Hydra scrambling.”

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the idea sank in. It would be a hell of an undertaking, and it would take almost everything they had left. If they committed to this, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

“I think it’s the only chance we’ve got,” Phil said.

<*>

Of course, a coordinated offensive against Hydra wasn’t that easy to plan, but that was why they had Nick, Maria and Jasper. Phil wasn’t so bad in the planning department, either, but he had a different focus.  _ Garrett. _

Getting to Garrett wouldn’t be easy. They had no idea how many mercenaries and new Hydra recruits would be on-site, no way into Garrett’s base, and barely any agents or resources with which to mount the attack. Even Strike Team Delta missions planned on the fly in the middle of nowhere had better chances.

Phil rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired and his thoughts were muddled, which probably meant he should sleep, but he couldn’t silence the clock ticking down in the back of his mind. If they were going to do this, they only had one shot and they had to make it soon. Hydra had gone quiet, which meant they were building up to something.

SHIELD had barely stopped Hydra’s Helicarrier fleet the last time they’d launched something big, and Phil wasn’t just going to sit around and wait for them to do it again.

“Hey,” Clint said quietly.

Phil offered him a tired smile as Clint settled beside him, one hip propped on the desk and his arms folded across his chest. “Hey.”

“You actually gonna come to bed?” Clint asked, and he didn’t mean for anything more than sleeping, but Phil couldn’t stop the shiver that sparked down his spine all the same.

Clint flashed him a ghost of a smirk, and Phil ducked his head, warmth spreading through his chest. Even after everything that had happened, Clint could still read him like a book. It was comforting. One thing that hadn’t changed. Phil could find comfort in that.

“Yeah,” Phil said. Sleep would help, but it wouldn’t miraculously help Phil find another way into the Hydra base.

“What is it?” Clint said softly, his blue eyes grave.

Phil huffed. “I had Daisy do a little digging,” he replied. “Garrett’s redone the security since Hydra last had command of the base. I’ve been over everything I can, and as far as I can figure, there’s only one way in.”

Clint tensed, and Phil didn’t blame him. Clint really wasn’t going to like this. He turned to face Clint better and rubbed his hand over his face again. “The only way in is--”

“But getting your dumb ass captured by Hydra,” Clint finished with a scowl.

“Someone had to get inside long enough to give Daisy access to their security systems,” Phil said. “If we don’t do that, no one is getting in.”

“Phil…” Clint glanced away, his jaw clenching. “Why does it have to be  _ you _ ?”

Phil swallowed. “I could say it’s because Garrett and I have history,” he said, and Garrett was definitely arrogant enough that if Phil fought capture just enough, Garrett wouldn’t ever consider why it had been so easy. “But mostly it’s because you know me, Clint. I can’t ask someone else to do this.”

“So, what?” Clint snapped, his eyes glinting. “It’s too dangerous for someone else to take the risk, but it’s okay if it’s you?” He shifted, his arms no longer crossed, but wrapped around his chest as if to protect it. “That’s the same bullshit logic that you used to take on Loki, isn’t it? When you--”

Clint ruthlessly cut himself off, but Phil could finish the sentence.  _ When you died _ .

“If you can find me another way, I’ll do it,” Phil said softly. “But Garrett needs to be stopped.  _ Hydra _ needs to be stopped.”

Letting out a rough breath, Clint was silent for a long moment. “I know,” he whispered. He glanced back at Phil. “I know. I just can’t lose you again, Phil. Not just after I finally found you.”

Phil blinked his suddenly stinging eyes. “You won’t,” he said.

Clint snorted. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Phil replied. And okay, maybe it was foolish and selfish to promise Clint something that Phil might not be able to do, but by every god in every universe out there, he was going to come back.

He attempted a smile. “You know how Garrett likes to monologue,” he said. “I’ll have plenty of time to slip my cuffs and get free. Besides, you’ll be watching my back, right?”

Clint searched his gaze for a moment, his blue eyes flickering across Phil’s face. It wasn’t agreement, there was still too much anger at the back of Clint’s gaze for that, but Phil would take it. They really didn’t have any other options.

Sighing, Clint stepped up and cupped Phil’s jaw gently with his hands, and pulled Phil in for a fierce kiss. “Like you could get rid of me now.”

Sliding his arms around Clint’s waist, Phil rested his forehead against Clint’s. “See? Hydra doesn’t stand a chance.”

<*>

_ Somewhere between London and Basal, Switzerland _

Getting out of London had been surprisingly easy. Or maybe that was just the benefit of having Tony Stark and J.A.R.V.I.S on their side. With Maria coordinating through J.A.R.V.I.S, the London base had slowly emptied of the last few agents who had lingered. Trip had left to meet up with Bobbi and Jemma, and Nick, Jasper and Melinda had left a day later. Maria had joined Sharon Carter, Stark and Colonel Rhodes, and word had it that Isabelle and her team had met up with Victoria Hand and her agents to take down one of Hydra’s larger operational hubs.

It had all been ruthlessly planned, and even if Phil hadn’t heard where everyone else was heading, he had every faith that they’d be taking out their share of Hydra.

Phil swallowed. It was the right play, and their only shot at taking out Hydra, but that hadn’t made it any easier. Phil hadn’t expected the edge of isolation, of not  _ knowing _ what was happening. Even with J.A.R.V.I.S and his encryption ability, communication was limited, reserved mostly for Maria and Nick. Although, Phil coud admit, if only to himself, that it was mostly the lack of communication with Clint that was making him restless.

They’d separated at Piccadilly Station, taking different trains to make it harder to track them. Phil and Daisy -- posing as a father and daughter on vacation -- were heading to Basel, with Clint, Steve and Wilson headed to Bern. From there, it would be easy to meet up again in Thrun before they hit Hydra’s base in the Swiss Alps.

The plan was the best they could make it, but none of that stopped Phil worrying.

“Yo,  _ Dad _ . You wanna unclench that jaw before you give yourself a headache?” Daisy said with a pointed look.

Phil blew out a breath and resisted the urge to fidget with his glasses. They weren’t his real ones, of course, just part of his cover. “You could take less amusement in reminding me how old I am, you know,” he said dryly.

“I could,” Daisy agreed with a grin.

Phil smiled back, and not just to preserve his cover. If he hadn’t sacrificed any dreams of a white picket fence and a family a long time ago, he would have been proud to have a daughter like Daisy. He was equally proud to be her friend.

Daisy shifted to sit in the train seat beside him rather than in the window seat opposite. “He’ll be okay, you know,” she said in a low voice.

“I do,” Phil said quietly.

And he did. Clint had survived World Security Council custody, Hydra, and believing Phil was dead. A train trip to Switzerland was nothing. When this was all over, Phil was going to steal Clint away and hide from the world for a while. He didn’t think Clint would object.

Daisy’s phone chimed softly and she pulled it out of her pocket. She tapped the screen a few times, and held it up so that Phil could see it. “You’re going to want to see this,” she said. She shot him a mischievous smile. “I hooked a mutual friend of ours up with some of my old Rising Tide contacts.”

Phil raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t get a chance to ask anything as the live broadcast on the screen began. It was little more than a shadowed figure on a dark background, but Phil swallowed when the SHIELD logo flickered up onto the screen.

“I am an agent of SHIELD and I have a message for the world,” the figure said and oh, fuck, that was  _ Nick _ . “There are those out there who have branded us criminals and traitors, but we are not the enemy.”

Phil sucked in a breath, because there was real pain in Nick’s voice. Perhaps not obvious to people who didn’t know him, but it was the same pain Phil had lived with ever since SHIELD had fallen.

“When I earned my badge, I swore an oath,” Nick continued. “Just like every other SHIELD agent. To serve when everything else fails, to be humanity’s last line of defense. To be the  _ shield _ . I still honour that oath. There are other good agents out there who honour that oath. That carries weight. It will  _ always _ carry weight.”

Nick paused, and a link flashed up onto the screen. “There are those who have been hiding in the shadows, hiding behind SHIELD, as they twisted everything we fought for,” Nick continued. “But what they did in the name of SHIELD, they can’t hide anymore, because I’m releasing the identities of every Hydra double-agent to the world.”

Phil blinked. He hadn’t expected that, but  _ of course _ Nick had a plan three steps ahead. Maybe revealing Hydra double-agents wouldn’t do any good, or maybe it would give Talbot and the JCTC other targets to go after.

“The truth is out there now. Just like the good people fighting for what’s  _ right _ ,” Nick said. “Good people, working as a part of something bigger than ourselves. You tried to stop us, but you can’t. You thought you had us beaten, but we’re not. The shield will  _ always _ be there to protect those who need it.”

Nick paused, and Phil would have bet good donuts that Nick was smirking. “Catch us if you can,” Nick taunted, and then the live feed vanished.

“He likes to be dramatic, doesn’t he?” Daisy said softly.

“You have no idea,” Phil replied.

Deep down, Phil didn’t mind the drama. Maybe they even  _ needed _ it. What Nick had said was the truth -- Hydra  _ had _ thought they were beaten. Nick’s words were a warning shot, a reminder that SHIELD wasn’t done. Hydra would have to work harder than that to defeat them.

_ Catch us if you can _ .

Of course, Hydra would only get the chance if SHIELD didn’t catch them  _ first _ .

<*>

_ Just outside of Thun, Switzerland _

“So, we’re really doing this, huh?”

Clint’s soft voice from beside him made Phil glance over, his hands stilling where he’d been checking over his gear. Clint’s shoulders were hunched inwards, his fingers fidgeting with the material of his black combat pants. 

“Yeah,” Phil replied, his voice no louder than Clint’s.

Nick’s speech had reminded Phil of the SHIELD he’d sworn his life to, to the simple truth of what he would -- and  _ had _ \-- given his life for. Hydra was a threat to the entire world, and they needed to be stopped.  _ Garrett _ needed to be stopped. It was the same truth Clint believed in or he wouldn’t have been right by Phil’s side, but doing the right thing had  _ never _ meant Phil wasn’t scared.

This time, there was so much more to lose. Not just the remains of SHIELD, or the freedom Phil had fought so hard all his life to protect, but  _ Clint _ . They’d only just found each other again, and now that Phil knew the quiet joy of being loved back by the man who held his heart, he was terrified of losing it again.

And, yet, it was a risk they had to take. Or Hydra would win, after all.

“This could be our last mission,” Clint said, hushed. “So we make it count, right?”

Clint had been getting better, had been remembering his own strength, but there was still a lost glint in his eyes, a fragility underlying his words. Phil let the words flow over him, felt the echo deep within his chest. He looked Clint straight in the eye, and nodded. “It might be,” he agreed, reaching deep for the certainty that had slowly settled in his bones. Clint needed someone to remind him of what they were fighting for, and Phil would  _ never _ object to being that person when Clint needed it. “But we won’t just make it count, Clint,” he added, holding Clint’s gaze. “Whatever happens today, the world will remember this. We’ll show them, and Hydra, what happens when good people refuse to give up.”

“Even if one of those people is not so good anymore?” Clint whispered.

Phil swallowed, the words hitting him low in his gut. Phil had always had faith, not in a deity, but in  _ people _ . In superheroes. In  _ Clint _ . “There is nothing about you that isn’t good, Clint,” he said. “You are and always have been a  _ good man _ .”

Clint let out a shaky breath. “You really believe that?”

Staring into the bright, vulnerable blue of Clint’s eyes, Phil let all of that faith shine through like a beacon. “I have  _ never _ had any doubt,” he said.

Clint let out what could have been a choked off sob, and with his free hand, tugged Phil in for a short, fierce kiss. Clint’s gloved hand was rough against the skin of Phil’s neck, but he sank into it, helpless not to pull Clint close, to treasure this last moment of nearness.

Pulling back slightly, he rested his forehead against Phil’s. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Phil whispered back, helpless.

Clint smiled. It was a shadow of his usual smirk, but Phil’s breath caught at the spark of determination that had lit Clint’s blue eyes. “We’ll keep fighting ‘til the end.”

“Always,” Phil said, because it was true, and  _ nothing _ could tear him away from Clint’s side, not this time.

<*>

_ Hydra base, Swiss Alps _

Phil bit back a curse as one of the Hydra thugs forced him to his knees. The musty bag covering his head prevented him from seeing anything, but based on the boot tread and assorted ominous clicking of weapons, there were at least five other men in the room with him. Six men in total, which wasn’t bad, but truthfully, Phil  _ had _ been expecting a little more. 

Clearly, his reputation was a little lacking. He’d need to fix that.

To play into Garrett’s ego, Phil had let himself be spotted on the cameras set up around the base. He’d been heading for one of the sealed shafts leading into the base’s lower levels, and he’d gotten almost halfway there before a patrol had jumped him.

Phil hadn’t made it easy. The fight had left three of the patrol dead and Phil aching from a new set of bruises. They’d stripped Phil of his weapons, vest and jacket, but not his empty holster on his thigh or his boots. Then they’d shoved a hood on his head and dragged him on a twisting path somewhere deep inside the base.

Hopefully, deep enough. His comm was long gone, but they’d carefully sewn the device Daisy needed to hack the security system into the hems of Phil’s black combat pants. There was also a backup in his boot. Now that he was inside, all Phil had to do was distract Garrett and his thugs for long enough that Daisy could bypass the security and then Clint, Steve and Sam Wilson could storm in after him. Simple.

A large hand on his shoulder kept Phil firmly kneeling on the ground, his thighs splayed and his hands tied painfully behind his back. The bag was roughly yanked from his head, and Phil blinked in the suddenly blinding light. When his vision cleared, Phil bit back a sigh because Grant Ward was smirking victoriously down at him. He didn’t really want to deal with Ward’s posturing, but that was the downside to playing bait -- that and the inevitable punching.

“You know, I was disappointed when I met you, Coulson,” Ward said. “All that talk from Garrett, the rumours about you being Fury’s right hand man… even coming back from the dead. But then all I saw was a broken, middle-aged man who had to lean on everyone else to even be useful.”

Phil swallowed, because there was truth in that. He  _ was _ past forty, and for a while, maybe he had been broken. Although, the thing about cracks was that they could be  _ mended _ . Not easily, and not without a lot of work, but it could be done. Ward might call that weakness, but those cracks and sharp edges just reminded Phil what he was fighting for.

“Oh, don’t let Phil’s appearance fool you,” Garrett said.

He stepped around from behind Phil, and Phil shuddered. Garrett had been uncharacteristically silent behind him, and his manic grin was worrying. “Underneath the good old boy scout image, Phil’s as cold-blooded as they come,” Garrett continued. “Although, Phil, if you wanted to join, all you had to do was call.”

Phil kept his shoulders loose and his arms relaxed. They really shouldn’t have let him keep his watch. “I didn’t have your number,” he quipped to Garrett.

Ward apparently didn’t like the smartassery. He drew his arm back and slammed Phil right in the face with a brutal punch. Phil sagged to the side, blood swirling across his tongue, and blinking as his jaw started to throb.  _ Oh, that was going to hurt tomorrow _ .

“So what was the plan, Phil?” Garrett asked, and the gleam in his eyes chilled Phil to the core. Whatever good had been in Garrett once had been stripped away, leaving only cold, cruel ruthlessness behind. “Were you going to sneak in here and kill me while I slept?”

Phil licked his split lip. “I can’t deny that the thought has crossed my mind,” he said.

Garrett barked out a laugh. “See?” he said to Ward. “I told you he was cold-blooded. Fifteen years of friendship and he wouldn’t even blink before he slit my throat.”

Keeping his face impassive, Phil didn’t let the words get to him and ignored the gleam of respect in Ward’s eyes. It didn’t matter what Garrett and Ward believed of him. He’d stop Garrett any way he could, because if he didn’t, Garrett would keep hurting innocent people. None of that meant that Phil wouldn’t regret the lives he’d taken, or mourn the man that Garrett had once been.

“Any sign of anyone else?” Garrett asked.

Ward shook his head. “He came alone.”

Garrett tutted. “Now that was a little stupid, Phil,” he said. “Couldn’t convince any of your ducklings to come? Pity. Ward was so looking forward to seeing Daisy again.”

Garrett jerked his head, and Ward kicked Phil in the stomach. Phil curled forwards as pain exploded through him. His vision whited out for a second and he straightened up only through sheer force of will. Righting himself, he took three slow, measured breaths, until the pain receded to something manageable.

“You’re not asking the right question,” Phil said hoarsely, cutting off whatever Garrett had been saying. Phil hadn’t bothered listening.

Garrett laughed cruelly as Ward punched him again. “Oh, and what question is that, Phil?” Garrett said. “Should I ask you about why you have to stop me? About how evil I am?”

“No,” Phil said, leaning carefully to the side to spit out the blood and bile pooling in his mouth. He glanced up, straight into Garrett’s eyes. “You should have asked: why  _ now _ ?”

“Why now?” Garrett echoed, as the timer counting down in Phil’s head hit zero and the rope binding Phil’s arms went slack.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “Why did I let you catch me  _ now _ ?” As if to punctuate his words, the base shuddered with a muffled explosion and an alarm immediately ripped through the air.

Phil smirked up at Garrett’s wide eyes and surged to his feet.

<*>


	29. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: So I can only apologise that the rest of this fic has taken so long. Thank you for your patience. It's been a hell of a month for me, including getting sick (not Covid-19, thankfully) and losing momentum, but it's all done now. I'm posting the end in one big batch, so I hope that helps in part make up for the delay <3

_ Hydra base, Swiss Alps _

“And… I’m in,” Daisy said over the comms.

Clint let out a silent breath. It had been a risk to send Phil in with a device sewn into his clothes that would let Daisy gain access to the base’s network, but they hadn’t had many options. Garrett had definitely upped the security systems since the base was last used, although if  _ anyone _ had tried to take Phil from him again, Clint would burn the base  _ to the ground _ .

Even if Phil’s idiotic plan had been to  _ surrender himself _ .

And yeah, okay, they might not have had any other way inside, not without taking too long and blowing the rest of the coordinated strike plans. Clint just wasn’t fond of any plans that involved Phil at the hands of who knew how many Hydra assholes and being kept alive long enough for Garrett to do some supervillain monologuing. They had  _ Phil _ . No matter how tough and skilled Phil was, no matter the plan, that fact had the power to chill Clint’s blood and set his heart pounding in his chest.

Why the fuck had he agreed to this again?

Next time Phil said that something was  _ the only way _ , Clint was going to argue a lot harder. Sitting in wait for the signal from Daisy had been one of the most difficult things Clint had done in his  _ life _ .

“We’ll find him,” Steve said from his crouch next to Clint, and Clint wasn’t sure he liked how obvious his emotions were even when wearing Ronin’s mask.

As backup went, having Captain America, Sam Wilson and his jet pack  _ wings _ and Clint ready to swoop in was maybe --  _ maybe _ \-- enough to mean this wasn’t one of Phil’s riskiest ever plans, but Clint wasn’t feeling generous enough to really concede the point. He’d just have to satisfy himself with finding Phil as soon as humanly possible and then making sure this entire place blew up.

“Ronin, opening the door for you and Cap in three, two, one… go,” Daisy said. 

As soon as the electric lock released and the door popped open, Clint was slipping inside on silent feet. His stomach was churning with the  _ need _ to find Phil and make sure he was safe, but he forced himself to let Steve take the lead. Steve had been to the base before, and he was the closest they had to a map. “We’re in,” he told Daisy.

“Copy that,” Daisy replied.

At the first junction the corridor came to, Steve paused. They needed to split up to cover more ground, but the tension in Steve’s shoulders had Clint hesitating. They only had a limited amount of time before Garrett and his evil minions worked out what was really going on, so Clint caught Steve’s attention and jerked his finger towards the east-branching corridor. Clint barely waited for Steve’s answering nod before he was running, going for speed instead of subtlety.

“Falcon, how’s your position?” Daisy asked via the comms.

Sam was waiting outside the base, because aerial support worked best outdoors, and also because he had a fancy new drone Stark had helped design. The drone was perfect to watch their asses -- even if Sam kept referring to the thing as Redwing.

“I’ve got eyes on the base and so does Redwing,” Sam said. “So far, none of the patrols have altered their route. You’re clear.”

Well, at least the bad guys hadn’t worked out that Phil had backup yet.

Clint paused in several places to leave a few presents while he still had the element of surprise, and because it never hurt to have a Plan B. As he raced down the corridors, he had a weird feeling of deja vu. The base was a strange clash of past and present -- the walls were still scarred in places with bullet holes and scorch marks from the assault by the Howling Commandos and the SSR at the end of the war, and some of the furniture and decor was straight out of the 40s. Yet, modern security cameras were mounted on the walls and some doors had electronic keypads and fingerprint scanners.

Steve must have been completely weirded out. If this hadn’t been so important, and if Steve hadn’t volunteered, Clint would probably have suggested Steve sit this one out. It couldn’t be easy to come back to this base. Not after what happened the last time he was here.

Peering around a corner, Clint blinked at the sight beyond a large set of open doors. Huh. That was a hanger bay, and…  _ motherfucker _ . Garrett had  _ six _ quinjets.

“I found the hanger bay,” Clint reported. “And I have eyes on six ‘jet’s, in case we need a fast getaway.”

“Copy that, Ronin,” Steve said, calm and sure and not like he was impacted by their surroundings at all. It was kind of impressive, actually.

“Have you pulled up Phil’s signal yet?” Clint asked quietly as he kept moving.

They hadn’t known where Garrett would take Phil, so Daisy had equipped her hacking device with a tracker. Assuming the device was still on Phil, they’d have a way to track him.

“It’s pretty faint,” Daisy said. “I’m working on boosting the signal, but I think he’s in the lower levels, deeper in the mountain.”

Of course he was. “Copy that,” Clint said.

The echo of laugher and footsteps had Clint ducking into a dark, unused room. It had probably once been an office, but now most of the remaining furniture had been covered by drop clothes. Clint closed the door almost completely, barely leaving himself a crack to peer through. He was glad he had, however, when Rollins and another black-clad soldier walked past, still chuckling about something. Clint sneered at the Hydra patches on their uniforms.

Garrett was clearly building his strike teams. It was also bad news, because wherever Rollins was, Rumlow wasn’t far behind.

Clint waited until Rollins and his buddy had turned a corner and were out of sight before he let out a slow breath. “We have a problem. Rollins is on-site,” he reported.

“Rumlow, too,” Steve replied, his voice hard. “If it comes down to it, I’ll deal with them.”

Clint raised his eyebrows as he crept out of the disused office. Steve was  _ pissed _ .

“I think Cap is still holding a grudge about the elevator,” Sam said dryly.

“The elevator?” Daisy echoed, obviously curious.

Sam chuckled, even as Steve let out an honest to God  _ growl. _ “Rumlow, Rollins and a bunch of Hydra double-agents ambushed me at the  _ Triskelion _ with electromagnetic handcuffs,” Steve said, his voice clipped. “I  _ hate _ bullies.”

Daisy let out a low whistle. “Good thing you’re here to teach them the error of their ways, huh?”

Despite the circumstances, Clint smiled. People like Daisy, with their passion to fight injustice and strength to do what was right, had been the reason that Clint had stayed with SHIELD. Now, they’d be the force that rebuilt something out of the ashes.

Regardless, they hadn’t expected Rollins and Rumlow when they’d planned to take out the base. Clint wasn’t sure crippling the security systems and taking out Garrett would be enough, not with Rumlow and Rollins in the mix.

“Does anyone have eyes on Phil yet?” Clint asked.

“I do,” Daisy replied. “He’s in a room in the lower levels. Garrett and Ward are there.” She hesitated. “He’s just sort of kneeling on the floor all tied up? Is he waiting for something? He doesn’t look hurt.”

The rush of relief was so intense Clint had to lock his knees. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Okay, this was good. He could work with this. 

“I know what he’s waiting for,” Clint said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Brace yourself, Cap. Things are about to get loud.”

Reaching into his jacket, Clint pulled out a small detonator. Time for Plan B. He ducked into a shadowed corner and armed one of the little explosive “presents” he’d left on the far side of the base. “Three, two, one…” he said and pushed the button.

The floor beneath Clint’s boots shook as the muffled explosion reverberated through the base, and a few seconds later a shrill alarm pierced the air.

“Holy shit,” Daisy said. “AC just started beating the crap…  _ ooh _ . He just slammed Ward’s head into a wall. That was a hell of a Batsignal!”

“What about Garrett?” Sam asked.

“He fled as soon as AC started kicking ass,” Daisy said. “He’s heading towards the west of the base.”

Clint hesitated for a brief second, torn between going after Garrett or Phil, but Phil would  _ always _ win. “How close am I to Phil’s position?” he asked.

“Not far,” Daisy said. “Head down the corridor and turn right. Second door on your left is a set of stairs.”

“Moving,” Clint said.

“Patrols have just gone a little crazy up here,” Sam said. “I’m going to see what I can do about that.”

“Copy that, Falcon,” Daisy said. “Ronin, go down three levels. AC should be at the end of the corridor.”

Clint followed the instructions as fast as he could, leaping over the stairway rail to save time, his every cell screaming for Phil. He burst out of the stairwell and sprinted down the corridor, barely pausing to kick open the door at the end. Then he skidded to a halt.  _ Phil _ . His lip was split and a nasty bruise was darkening his cheek, but he was in one piece and didn’t have any bullet holes in him. Clint would take it.

“Phil,” he breathed.

He stumbled forward, his legs suddenly not working properly, but then Phil was there, one of Phil’s strong arms wrapping around Clint’s waist to keep him upright. Clint leaned in to press his forehead against Phil’s, because he was still wearing his mask and they didn’t have time for anything else.

“I’m okay,” Phil said, and Clint let out a shuddering breath, his grip tightening on Phil for a second.

“Ronin, you have incoming towards your position,” Daisy said, breaking the moment.

Clint straightened, and drew one of his swords. Phil followed his lead, raising his gun, and Clint caught his eye and nodded, using hand signals to convey Daisy’s warning.

“Hydra assholes rounding the corner in three, two, one…” Daisy said.

Surging forwards as Daisy counted down in his ear, Clint hit the doorway just as the Hydra goons did. He kicked out at the first thug’s knee, sending him down with a grunt. One of the other goons reached for his gun, but Clint slammed the hilt of his sword into his temple, sending the goon stumbling backwards.

Another goon grabbed at Clint with a roar, but Clint rolled under the goon’s charge, rising back up onto his feet in time to catch the fourth goon pointing a gun at his head. Swallowing down a jolt of fear, Clint pivoted and his sword flashed out, taking out the three goons in front of him before they could hurt either him or Phil.

Two loud gunshots had Clint whirling, but Phil had already taken out the fourth thug.

“Thanks,” Clint said as Phil lowered his gun. He glanced over Phil’s shoulder. “Any idea what happened to Ward?”

“He’s dead,” Phil said, his eyes cold.

Clint nodded. He wanted to comfort Phil, but now was not the time. Even so, he couldn’t really feel any remorse for one less Hydra bastard in the world.

“Shit,” Daisy said. “Uh, guys? Garrett and a bunch of others are heading towards the hangar.”

Clint took off, barely managing to get out an acknowledgement, Phil right on his heels. Between Clint’s swords and Phil’s aim, they carved a path towards the hangar bay. Despite the circumstances and what they were trying to do, it felt  _ good _ to be fighting beside Phil again. There was no thought, no searching. Phil was exactly where Clint needed him to be, always where he was expected, protecting Clint’s open side and watching his back.

“Rumlow and Rollins are headings towards you, Ronin,” Steve said, just as Clint skidded to a halt outside the hangar. “I’ll keep them off your back.”

Clint never had a chance to reply, because the world around him  _ exploded _ .

The force of the explosion sent Clint flying back, and it was probably a good thing he hadn’t been any closer. His shoulder slammed painfully into the ground, and Clint rolled, struggling to end up on his feet. Or  _ almost _ on his feet, anyway.

“Fuck,” he swore softly, blinking away the spots in his vision.

His voice was muffled, like it was coming from underwater, and his ears were ringing. Clint shook himself, because whoever had tossed that grenade was still out there.

Staggering forward, Clint half skidded, half crawled behind a stack of long metal boxes as he struggled to regain his breath and his bearings. Clint’s sword lay among the debris now littering the floor, only a few feet away, and Clint snatched it up before setting back behind the metal boxes.

“Nice try, Phil,” Garrett called out from somewhere further inside the hangar. “But you still don’t stand a chance.”

Clint shifted and carefully peered around the edge of the boxes. Garrett wasn’t there, but there were at least five Hydra soldiers spreading out across the hangar, guns first. Clint ducked back and scanned the shadows for anything he could use, because one against five wasn’t great odds, even for him.

He wasn’t sure where Phil had gone, but he could only hope that Phil had a plan.

Clint let out a slow breath and tightened his grip on his sword. A hand on his arm had Clint’s heart jolting in his chest as he snapped his head to the side, but it was only Phil.  _ Fuck _ . Clint sucked in a deep breath and glared, because Phil shouldn’t  _ do that _ . Not that Clint’s glaring had stopped him in the past, but this time, there was no spark of humour in Phil’s eyes.

“We need to take out Garrett.” Phil’s whisper was barely audible and his normally warm blue eyes hard like chips of ice.

Swallowing, Clint nodded. They did -- Garrett was too dangerous not to, but the banked anger in Phil’s gaze was a little terrifying.

“Phil, come out, come out, wherever you are,” Garrett called, his voice a hell of a lot closer than earlier.

Peering around the edge of the boxes again, Clint noted the distance between him and the nearest Hydra soldier. Garrett was still nowhere in sight, but that fucker was toying with them, so he was  _ somewhere _ close. Clint glanced back at Phil and held up three fingers. Phil nodded, because they’d faced worse odds together.

Deep breath. Hold.  _ Move _ .

As soon as Clint sprinted out of cover, the Hydra soldiers started shouting and fuck, there was more than five of them. Clint dropped and slid along the floor, kicking out the closest thug’s knee as soon as he was in range. Rolling to his feet, Clint snapped out another kick as a second thug brought up his gun, his swords flashing out in a silver arc. He took out four of the Hydra soldiers before one of them slammed the butt of his assault rifle into Clint’s wrist. Pain flared, and Clint only managed to hang onto his grip by gritting his teeth.

He glanced up, his free hand scrabbling for a knife, when four precise shots took out the four remaining Hydra soldiers.

Four precise  _ rifle _ shots.

The shadows in the left corner of the hanger moved, light glinting off a metal arm, before a dark figure dropped to the ground. Clint huffed as James Barnes shot him a smirk and a two fingered salute.

Clint didn’t get a chance to say anything else as another wave of Hydra soldiers flooded out of the shadows and Clint had to dive behind some covered crates to avoid being shot. Staying low, Clint kept moving because a moving target was harder to hit. Besides, he worked best from the shadows.

As the end of a gun appeared at the edge of the crates, Clint slashed out with his sword, catching the Hydra soldier in the arm and then the throat before the Hydra thug could let out a sound. He left the body where it fell, sliding back into darkness and hunting for his next prey, all the while the sharp shots of James’ rifle echoed in counterpoint.

“Uh, guys?” Sam said, a little out of breath. “I’ve got eyes on Cap.” He grunted. “He needs backup and I’m a little busy.”

Movement to Clint’s left made him glance up, and Clint caught James’ gaze. He nodded once. James nodded back and disappeared.

Clint took out two of the remaining Hydra soldiers, before instinct had him diving sideways to avoid the blast of another grenade. He barely had time to bring an arm up to cover his head as splinters of wood and concrete rained down on him. Clint carefully stayed where he was until the debris stopped falling, trying to shake off the new ringing in his ears, but even so, there were no shouts or gunshots.

Coughing softly, Clint climbed to his feet. He glanced around, but all the Hydra soldiers were lying either dead or unconscious on the ground. Phil stood in the centre of the room, Garrett on the ground in front of him, and his gun aimed straight at Garrett. Still coughing, Clint staggered towards them.

“This is your last chance,” Phil said, his voice hard and uncompromising.

Garrett chuckled, blood on his teeth. “For what, Phil? To surrender?” he said.

Before Phil could reply, Garrett lunged and Phil fired. Two to the chest and one to the head. Garrett’s hand fell to the ground, barely an inch from the gun he’d been reaching for. Phil gave a shuddering breath, his shoulders shaking, and lowered his own gun.

“Guys? Is everyone okay?” Daisy said frantically as Clint tuned back to the chatter on his comm. At least he still had it.

“We’re alive,” Clint confirmed, his eyes still locked on Phil.

“Rumlow and Rollins are down,” Sam reported, almost drowning out Steve’s shocked, “ _ Bucky _ ?”

Clint tuned them out to give Steve as much privacy as he could. He figured Steve didn’t need eavesdroppers for this reunion. Instead, he walked over to Phil, gaze flickering over Phil’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw. He curled his fingers into a fist to stop himself reaching out.

“Ready to blow this joint?” Clint asked, his tone deliberately light.

Phil glanced up, his eyes warming a fraction. “Yeah,” he said.

Maria would send a team to gather what intel they could and decide what happened to the base, but honestly, Clint didn’t care. They’d stopped Garrett, and now all Clint wanted was to take Phil and get out of there.

“Come on,” he said softly. He attempted a smile. “Let’s go steal ourselves a quinjet.”

Phil nodded and when Clint turned to leave, Phil fell into step beside him. Right where he should be.

<*>

_ Somewhere over Switzerland _

Phil sank into the copilot seat with a muffled groan. Clint shot him a sideways glance, his stomach immediately clenching with concern. Phil’s eyes were closed, and the bruises on his visible skin were starting to turn horrifying colours.

“Hey,” Clint said softly. “How are you doing?”

Phil’s mouth quirked up into a faintly sardonic smile, but he kept his eyes shut. “Eh,” he replied. “I’ve been worse.”

Clint blinked, momentarily lost for words, because Phil had just made a joke about  _ being dead _ . “You,” Clint said when he found his voice again, “are an  _ asshole _ .”

Phil chuckled. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Um, no,” Clint shot back, but a smile was tugging at his mouth. “I think you’re misremembering.”

“Sure,” Phil drawled, the word laden with sarcasm.

“I can’t help it if you’re getting old and senile, sir,” Clint quipped.

Phil cleared his throat, and this time when Clint glanced over, Phil’s eyes were open and watching Clint. “Phil,” he said quietly. “Not sir.”

Clint smiled, ducking his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” He let out a breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked seriously.

“Ward got in a couple of good hits while I was tied up,” Phil said quietly. He attempted a smile when Clint shot him another worried look. “It’s just bruises.”

Clint flipped the quinjet’s systems to autopilot so he could reach out and wrap his hand around Phil’s. It wasn’t as good as a hug, but it would have to do for now. Phil tangled their fingers together and squeezed back.

“You think Fury will give us some vacation time when this is all over?” Clint asked when the silence got too thick to bear.

Phil smiled, small but more genuine this time. “He’d better,” he said.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, and it was a nice thought. Some time to themselves, no threat of imminent death, no looking over their shoulders.

“I’ll, uh…” Phil cleared his throat, and Clint turned to look at him. “If we do get a little time, will you let me take you out to dinner?” Phil asked.

Clint grinned. “You mean like a date?”

Phil nodded. “Yes.”

Huh. A formal date might be nice. Clint had always enjoyed sharing meals with Phil, and getting a chance to check Phil out in a nice suit was never a hardship. “I’d love to,” he answered honestly. “But, uh…”

“Clint?” Phil said.

This was probably the worst time for a conversation about their relationship, what with Phil reeling from his confrontation with Garrett, and both of them still dealing with their shit. Clint just didn’t want to waste any more time. They’d wasted enough.

“If you think about it, we’ve kind of been dating for years, Phil,” Clint said, because they’d always been closer than just teammates and friends. He turned to stare out of the quinjet’s windshield, because it was easier than watching Phil’s face. “I know you better than I know myself. We’ve bled on each other, shared meals together, and sat vigil at each other’s bedsides.”

Clint swallowed, closing his eyes against the prickle of tears. “And when they told me you were dead, it was one of the worst moments of my entire life,” he whispered.

“Clint…” Phil said again, squeezing Clint’s hand.

Clint squeezed back, blinking open his eyes and looking over at Phil. Phil’s eyes were bright, and his grip was tight on Clint’s fingers.

“No, let me say this,” Clint said. “You’ve seen me at my worst, Phil. Angry, drunk, sick… stupid. The kissing part may be new, but all the stuff underneath isn’t. Neither are my feelings.”

Phil cleared his throat, blinking. “My feelings aren’t new, either.”

“Right. Good,” Clint said, discreetly trying to use his free hand to brush the corner of his eye. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Phil smiled. “Yeah.”

A sharp knock at the door broke the mood before Steve ducked his head into the cockpit. At least he had the grace to look vaguely apologetic about it. “Uh, Phil, Agent Hill is on the comm and wants to speak with you,” he said.

“Duty calls,” Clint said dryly, flipping a few switches to tap into the comm. “Hey, Hill. Is this good news or bad?”

Beside him, Phil huffed softly. “You wanted to talk to me?” he said.

Maria snorted. “I did,” she said. “Where are you?”

Phil glanced at Clint, and he nodded, taking the quinjet off autopilot. “About thirty minutes from the rendezvous coordinates,” Clint told Maria. “Do we have a problem?”

“No,” Maria replied. “But the timetable has moved up, so no dawdling, Barton.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said dryly, rolling his eyes at Phil and hiding his grin when Phil smiled back.

<*>

_ Just outside Turin, Italy _

They landed at an abandoned airfield just outside Turin, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. The small airstrip was deserted, except for two black, armoured SUVs, and Nick Fury and Melinda May leaning against the one in the lead.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” Clint muttered as he powered down the quinjet and beside him, Phil snorted.

“The fun never ends at SHIELD,” he replied dryly, starting to sound like his old self again.

Clint smiled and followed as Phil headed for the back of the quinjet. One the way, they passed Sam and Daisy who were gathering their things, and Steve, who was quietly talking to James in the corner. Clint caught James’ eye over Steve’s shoulder and James smiled slightly, so Clint left it be. Fuck knows, those two had a lot to talk about.

“Glad to see you made it, Cheese,” Nick said as they made their way down the quinjet’s ramp.

Phil rolled his eyes and Clint grinned. “So where are we headed, Boss?” he asked as Steve and Sam coaxed a hesitant James down the quinjet ramp behind them.

Nick’s eyes flicked towards them, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. “We got the call. Hydra tried to kidnap Councilwoman Hawley,” he said. “Hill and her team stopped that from happening, but now it’s time for us to do our part.”

“What do you need from us?” Clint asked, because they’d never really gone over this part of the plan in more than broad strokes.

“Well,  _ Hawkeye _ ,” Nick said, emphasising the codename Clint had left behind in his grief. “I was hoping that you, Wilson and the Captain could provide some dramatic back up, if it becomes necessary.”

Clint swallowed as Melinda held up one of Clint’s old bows and a quiver of arrows. He clenched his hand into a fist, because was he really ready to take up that mantle again? He had Phil back now, but that didn’t actually make it any easier to reach out and take his bow from Melinda.

Phil was a reassuring presence as he stepped up to Clint’s left shoulder. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly when Clint looked over at him. “It’s your choice, and only yours.”

Taking a deep breath, Clint nodded and turned back to Melinda. “Thanks,” he said as he took the bow from her.

“Always, Hawk,” Melinda said with a small smile.

Curling his hand over the bow settled something deep inside Clint, and he sighed. Okay. He could do this. Glancing up, he caught Nick’s gaze. “So what’s the rest of the plan?”

A figure clad in the all black tactical uniform of a Hydra goon leaned out of the window of the lead SUV. “Basically, we’re kicking Hydra ass,” he said. “So get in, losers.”

Clint blinked. “Jasper?”

Natasha opened the rear door to the SUV, dressed in a dark navy skirt and jacket, a large string of pearls around her throat and an ash blonde wig covering her vibrant hair. She smiled at Clint. “Hello,  _ little hawk, _ ” she said.

“The rest of the plan,” Nick said dryly after a glance towards Jasper, “is for Natasha, undercover as Hawley, to be brought before the Hydra Council, and for the rest of us to follow.” His gaze flicked to Daisy. “Daisy, you’ll be running the comms.”

Clint nodded. “With me, Cap and Sam as backup.”

Nick nodded. “That’s it,” he said.

“What about me?” James asked softly, and it was almost amusing how Steve immediately stepped towards him.

Nick glanced at James. “I’m sure Agent Johnson could use someone to help watch her back,” he said mildly.

James’ shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Nick grinned. “Good,” he said. “Now get in the car, it’s still an hour drive from here.”

Clint glanced over at Phil. The plan sounded good to him, but he still wasn’t going anywhere without Phil.

“Demons run when a good man goes to war,” Phil said quietly.

“And what grand old philosopher is that?” Jasper drawled, but from Daisy’s wide eyes, she’s already guessed.

“It’s  _ Doctor Who _ , actually,” Phil said and Clint had to laugh.

_ Nerd _ .

“Don’t ever change, Phil,” he said, his lips still curved into a smile.

“Promise,” Phil replied.

Clint turned to Natasha, who was still sitting in the SUV. “You ready?” he asked her.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Are you?” she replied, and really, that was all they’d ever needed.

Phil caught Clint’s eye and nodded before he turned to Nick. “Time to make sure Hydra loses?” he said.

Nick snorted. “Hydra’s already lost. They just don’t know it yet.”

<*>


	30. Melinda

_Secret Hydra Meeting, just outside Barolo, Italy_

Getting into the sprawling house of Bloom’s vineyard was unexpectedly easy, and that immediately raised Melinda’s hackles. Even in two SUVs and uniforms stolen from Hydra, security shouldn’t have been that easy to deal with. Nick said it was just Hydra’s overconfidence working against them, but Melinda wasn’t so sure.

Either way, they were in now, and had three superheroes waiting as back up. Not to mention Melinda was still _really pissed off_ , and if Hydra wanted to tangle with her, they’d soon learn why that was a bad idea.

Natasha, undercover as Councilwoman Hawley thanks to a photostatic veil, had been dragged in ahead of them between Jasper and Phil dressed up as Hydra soldiers, with Clint, Rogers and Wilson waiting just outside. Daisy and Barnes were in an SUV outside the vineyard’s walls, monitoring the security, leaving Melinda and Nick to sneak their way into the house. As always, Nick took the lead, and Melinda took up position at his flank to watch his back. 

“I’ve got ears on the meeting,” Daisy said over the comms. “If anyone wants to hear the evil monologuing.”

“Patch us in,” Nick said quietly.

“You got it, Boss,” Daisy replied, and a few seconds later Melinda’s ears were flooded with the audio from inside the meeting room. She had to inwardly raise an eyebrow at the sound quality -- Daisy was _good_.

“... _to welcome Alexander Pierce in person_ ,” a cultured voice said. Melinda didn’t have a name, but the level of arrogance probably signified Bloom or possibly Malick. “ _Your work on behalf of Hydra has been inspiring_.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Pierce replied. “ _It’s truly an honour to be here. Particularly with the presence of Councilwoman Hawley, although I regret that your colleagues couldn’t join us on this momentous occasion, Councilwoman_.”

Melinda snorted. She was going to enjoy punching a few of these bastards repeatedly in the face.

“ _To that end_ ,” Pierce continued, and a cork popped. “ _May I propose a toast?”_

“Uh, guys?” Daisy said. “I think something’s going down in the meeting. Pierce just headed to the bar to grab a bottle of champagne and I think I saw him drop something in it?”

“Is he going to poison the other heads of Hydra?” Clint muttered. “Because that is _fucked up_.”

Melinda glanced at Nick, who nodded back. Heading straight for the imposing double doors barring the way into the meeting, Melinda pulled out her night-night gun even as Nick did the same. The two Hydra soldiers standing outside the door barely had a chance to open their mouths before they were slumping into unconsciousness.

Nick pushed open the doors and strode into the room. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you’re going to want to put those celebratory drinks on hold.”

Melinda struggled to hide the amusement that curled her lips at the wide eyes and slack jaws of the gathered Hydra Councilmembers. Well, everyone except Pierce. He met Nick’s eyes with a calm gaze and smiled as if greeting an old friend. Melinda wasn’t sure he and Nick qualified as ‘old friends’ anymore. As far as she was concerned, revealing yourself to be a Nazi would do that.

Pierce was still standing near the bar, holding a very expensive bottle of champagne. Around a circular table inset with the Hydra logo, because it really was _that_ kind of meeting, sat four of the six heads of Hydra: Daniel Whitehall, Octavian Bloom, Baroness Zemo, and Gideon Malick. The only one missing was Doctor List.

“Fury?” Malick snapped. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“I have my ways,” Nick replied.

Pierce chuckled. “You always were one of the most resourceful and ruthless men I’ve ever met,” he said mildly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Melinda caught the way Nick’s jaw tightened. “And you underestimated SHIELD,” he said.

“I very much doubt that, Mr Fury,” Bloom said.

“Come on, Nick,” Pierce said. “Building a better world sometimes means tearing the old one down. You know that.”

Nick raised both his eyebrows. “Is that why you’re planning on serving your fellow heads poisoned champagne? To help tear down the world?”

Cries of outrage erupted from the table, and Melinda tensed, her eyes meeting Natasha’s, who still stood passively between her two ‘guards’. Things were going south in a hurry and there was too much riding on this to fail.

“We’re in position,” Clint said over the comms. “Just give the word.”

Baroness Zemo let out a choking sound and Melinda turned, her eyes widening in horror. Spreading out from the Baroness’ chest was an indescribable brown substance, and the Baroness’ eyes were filled with fear as her hand reached up for her throat. Melinda glanced at the other Hydra Councillors, but the same was happening to all of them -- except Malick. Melinda blinked as the brown spread, because she was wrong, it wasn’t a substance.

Somehow the Hydra Councillors were _turning to ash_.

“Holy fuck, is this actually happening?” Daisy breathed.

Melinda reached for a gun, Jasper and Phil reaching for theirs, as ice flooded her veins. In front of them, the brown ash consumed Baroness Zemo, Octavian Bloom and Daniel Whitehall until there was nothing left. The bodies of the Hydra members crumbled away as if they were nothing more than dust.

Pierce looked directly at Nick, his lips curved up into a faint smirk. “If you didn’t think I had a backup plan -- especially knowing that the Black Widow was still in play -- then you don’t know me as well as you think, Nick,” he said. Setting the champagne bottle down, Pierce slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry, the effects aren’t contagious.”

Melinda swallowed, dread sitting heavy in her stomach. Despite the horror they’d just witnessed, they couldn’t afford to show weakness, no matter how much Melinda wanted to ask _what the actual fuck_?

Pierce watched them cooly. He’d always been a good strategist, and the fact he’d risen to the top of SHIELD while being a double-agent for Hydra proved he couldn’t be underestimated. Melinda wanted to shoot him in the face.

“So,” Pierce said, stretching his arms out towards the destruction he’d so casually caused. “What now? You can’t think you’ll win.”

Nick looked around the room, and Melinda had to admire how _good_ Nick was at keeping everything he was feeling off his face, because he didn’t show a fraction of the pain, horror and betrayal he must have been feeling.

“Had any contact with your top cells lately?” Nick asked. “Or have some of them have gone dark and stopped reporting in?” Nick glanced back at Pierce and raised both eyebrows. “Say… yesterday?”

Pierce flinched. He’d almost caught it entirely, but Melinda was watching. Things weren’t as in control as Pierce wanted them to believe, which meant SHIELD’s coordinated attack had _worked_. Score one for the good guys.

“You thought we were beaten and broken,” Nick continued. “Defeated. Yet we just took out a bunch of your important infrastructure in one day.” Nick kept his gaze locked on Pierce, sharp and angry. “Imagine what we can do tomorrow.”

Pierce snorted, his face losing its expression of mild affability to reveal the cold, calculating bastard underneath. “A new world order is coming, Nick. We’ve been planning it for _decades_. Do you really think your ragtag bunch of fools and idealists is going to stop us?”

“Uh, does anyone else get the feeling this Pierce guy is playing for time?” Daisy said via the comm.

Melinda didn’t reply, but Pierce most definitely _was_ playing for time. Of course, Nick had planned for that, because Pierce wasn’t the only one. Sometimes, you had to wait until the enemy tipped their hand. Melinda was good at biding her time, waiting for just the right moment to prove why it was a bad idea to underestimate a SHIELD agent. Or turn your back on one.

Nick nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “But we’re going to keep fighting. Day after day after day. Hydra might win, you’re right, but that victory is going to _cost_ you.”

“Cut off one head and another shall take its place, Nick,” Pierce said.

As if his words had conjured them, Hydra soldiers burst into the room from the doors in the wall opposite, all dressed in black and armed to the teeth. Shaking off everything she had just seen, Melinda reacted like the trained field agent she was. She could dwell later -- as long as they lived.

Malick was running for the exit, ducking behind some of the Hydra soldiers, but Melinda could do little more than warn Daisy. Grabbing Nick’s arm, she tugged him backwards, hoping to get out of the room before the Hydra soldiers could start firing. Ignored by the Hydra thugs, Natasha -- still in disguise -- crouched low and tensed, Jasper and Phil subtly moving away from her, but in the end, none of it was needed.

An almighty crash rang out, broken glass raining down from the ceiling and hitting the large table as Clint, dressed in his Ronin getup and armed with his bow, jumped through the fancy skylight.

Because he was dramatic like that.

Clint landed on the large table, arrow already nocked, and all hell broke loose. Melinda sprinted forwards, shooting at the nearest Hydra thugs and from somewhere over her shoulder, Roger’s vibranium shield flew past and slammed into another goon. The fight was fast and nasty, but Melinda channelled her fury into her movements. She’d witnessed what Hydra was capable of and they needed to be _stopped_.

Cursing when her gun clicked empty, Melinda ducked under a Hydra goon’s wild swing as two arrows hit the two thugs just behind him. Kicking out at the first goon’s knee, Melinda threw herself to the side as yet another thug turned to aim his gun at her. This time, it was Natasha -- now without her veil and wig -- who slammed her fist into the thug’s stomach and the man went down with a crackle of electricity, and Melinda used her momentum to take out the goon sneaking up on Natasha.

Rising back to her feet, Melinda turned, but there were none left alive. Clint and Captain Rogers were back to back in the middle of the room, Natasha standing nearby. Natasha’s gaze was fixed on Nick, who was crouched next to Pierce’s body. The two blooms of red on Pierce’s white shirt were evidence of what had happened.

Carefully holstering her gun, Melinda walked over, unsure if Nick wanted any comfort but unable not to try anyway. “Fuck,” Nick breathed softly as Melinda stopped a few paces away.

Melinda stepped closer. She didn’t dare reach out to squeeze Nick’s hand, no matter how much she wanted to, but she hoped her presence helped, and not just Nick. Watching three people -- even if they were Nazis -- burst into ash in front of her eyes had been _unnerving_ and more than a little terrifying. Not to mention Pierce.

Nick looked up and met Melinda’s gaze, and stood.

“Orders, sir?” Jasper asked, stepping up on Nick’s other side. His face was a little pale, but his eyes were bright and fierce.

Nick glanced between them both and nodded once. “Get whatever scientists we have in here as fast as you can. I want to know what kind of weapon Hydra has that can turn people into dust. We also need to strip this place of any useful intel and vanish before Ross or the JCTC get here.”

Melinda hummed. “I have an idea about that,” she said.

Nick turned to her and arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Reaching into her pocket, Melinda pulled out a small message storage device that she’d managed to steal from Talbot’s Warehouse facility. “If we’re going to leave a message, why don’t we do it properly?”

<*>

Melinda lingered behind, because messages were only good if they were received and she also didn’t trust Talbot and his friends. Maria agreed, which was how Melinda ended up with company over the comms as she waited. She’d have preferred to have left with Nick and Jasper, if only to reassure herself that both men were safe and whole, but sometimes Melinda had to be a SHIELD agent before she could be the woman underneath.

“How are you doing?” Maria asked quietly in Melinda’s ear.

Sighing, Melinda lowered the binoculars just long enough to rub at her eyes. “I’m cold and tired and if either Talbot or Ross take any longer, we might have to assume they aren’t actually coming.”

Maria snorted. “Tell me about it. It’s frankly embarrassing that either of them are in charge of anything, let alone the two task forces supposed to track SHIELD down.”

“I would have thought that it was a good thing,” Daisy muttered from where she sat beside Melinda, eyes on her laptop as she monitored security.

Melinda turned to arch an eyebrow at her, and Daisy glanced up and smiled sheepishly. “I mean that they’re not here to catch us?”

“Who ever said they’d be able to catch us?” Melinda asked, raising the binoculars again.

From their position in one of the outbuildings, Melinda had a good view into the sprawling vineyard house. Not quite far enough into the meeting room for more than a glimpse, but she _did_ have a view of the doors where she’d left the holographic message to be triggered.

If Talbot and Ross ever turned up, no matter how many times Maria promised they’d both been headed for Italy at last report.

“ _Finally_ ,” Daisy muttered a few minutes later. “We have a convoy of shiny, black SUVs on approach.”

The SUVs screeched to a halt in the gravel driveway at the front of the house, and a mix of people dressed in military uniforms and the black of CIA field agents spilled out. Melinda kept watch as they milled around for a while, and Maria was right. As much of a threat as Talbot and Ross’ JCTC still presented, they weren’t in SHIELD’s league. Eventually, Talbot and Ross got them organized into semi-coordinated search teams, and Melinda had to smile at Maria’s scathing commentary in her ear.

“Some of Talbot’s men just spotted the meeting room,” Daisy reported.

“I see them,” Melinda said. Outside the house, both Talbot and Ross turned and headed into the house. “Do we still have ears on the meeting room?”

“Of course,” Daisy grumbled. “Did you really think I was going to miss this?”

She tapped a few keys and a beat later a soft feed from inside the house echoed around them. It was mostly chatter from Talbot’s soldiers, who were mostly surprised by what they were seeing, and greetings as Talbot and Ross walked up.

“You getting this, Maria?” Melinda asked.

“Loud and clear,” Maria replied.

“... _All right, Captain, what is it?”_ came Talbot’s slightly tinny voice.

“ _Uh, sir, it’s…”_

Whatever the soldier was interrupted as Talbot stepped close enough to the doors. Both Talbot and Ross cursed, Talbot going for his gun, as a hologram of Nick Fury himself materialized in the empty space in front of them.

“I would say it’s good to see you, but before you get too excited, this is a holographic message. I’m not actually here,” Nick’s recording said. “By now, you should be realizing what happened here. Or at least, you’re starting to realize part of it. Hydra is _real_ and they’re out there. This is deeper than you know, and frankly Colonel, both you and Agent Ross are ill prepared for this enemy. You’re so caught up in hunting SHIELD, you don’t know that the real enemy is _Hydra_.”

Melinda wasn’t close enough, but she’d almost wished she could see Talbot and Ross’ faces right about now.

“Now that you do, you’re going to have to make a choice, Colonel,” Nick’s message continued. “Whether you’re going to help us fight the real enemy, or keep denying the truth.” The recording paused, just because Nick had wanted his last words to really sink in. “I would say, ‘help us Obi Wan Kenobi’, but you’re _not_ our only hope. We’re _yours_.”

Melinda lowered the binoculars and both Talbot and Ross started barking orders at their people. Hopefully the message and what they found inside Bloom’s house would be enough to convince them of Hydra’s threat. Not that it ultimately mattered. Either way, SHIELD would be there to fight whatever parts of Hydra were left.

“Star Wars?” Maria said dryly. “Really?”

Melinda smirked. “Phil helped Nick with the message. What else did you expect?”

“Hey,” Daisy protested. “Star Wars is cool.”

Melinda motioned for Daisy to pack up her few belongings. “Either way, our message was received. Time to head out.”

“Copy that,” Melinda said. “See you both back at base.”

<*>

_New York City, United States_

Slowly, Melinda blinked open her eyes as her alarm sounded in the darkness. Sleep still dragged at her, and it was tempting to just turn off the alarm, roll over and curl back into the warmth of her bed.

“No,” Jasper grumbled, barely coherent.

Melinda smiled softly and silenced the alarm. “Go back to sleep, Jas,” she whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

On the other side of the bed, Nick blinked open his eyes, one deep warm brown and the other sightless blue, for once not hidden by his eyepatch. “I should…” he started.

“No,” Melinda cut him off at the same time as Jasper gave a wordless grumble and turned over to latch onto Nick like an octopus. “You should stay here and go back to sleep, Nick. The world can wait for a few more hours.”

“It can wait for you, too,” Nick said, but he did sink back into the blankets and Jasper’s embrace.

Melinda couldn’t deny she was tempted. Jasper and Nick curled around each other and mostly naked was a temptation she found very hard to resist now that she didn’t have to, but she’d made a promise. “I’m going to meet Daisy,” she said. “If she’s going to be a field agent, even as good as she is, she’s going to need training.”

Before Nick could say anything, one of Jasper’s hands reached up to cover his mouth. “Fine,” he said, eyes still stubbornly closed. “Go train with Daisy, but you’re coming back for a nap. Naps are good.”

Melinda’s smile widened, warmth blooming through her chest. She would forever treasure these two men she’d been lucky enough to love. Leaning down again, Melinda tilted up Jasper’s chin for a deep kiss. “Promise,” she said when she pulled back.

“Ugh,” Jasper said, squinting up at her, his face flushed. “That’s playing dirty.”

Melinda pretended to consider it for a second. “Oh, I’m sure Nick can help you with that while I’m gone,” she said, as Nick chuckled warmly.

Pulling on leggings, a sports bra and a tank top, Melinda smiled when she found both Nick and Jasper staring at her unabashedly. She sat down on the bed long enough to pull on socks and her sneakers, and deftly avoided Nick’s grasping hand with a laugh.

“Nap,” she told him on her way out the door. “I’ll be back.”

For now, she, Nick and Jasper were staying at SHIELD’s new New York base. The New York base was still small, lacking the technology and sprawling parts of the Hub or the Triskelion, but SHIELD had to rebuild from somewhere. Melinda was good at rebuilding things.

Technically, the new SHIELD was still on the run from Talbot and the Joint Counter Terrorism Center, but they were still moping up after SHIELD’s strike on Hydra. Thanks to the intel and message Nick had left, they’d be busy for a while, and hopefully when they were done, they’d realize that Hydra was and always had been the only enemy.

Until then, SHIELD would still be there, because that’s what they did.

Melinda was still smiling when she found Daisy waiting for her by the gym. “Ready?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Daisy grinned back. “Always,” she replied. “Just do me a favour and don’t kick my ass so bad it hurts to sit down for that big meeting later.”

Melinda shook her head, but she didn’t try to hide her amusement. “No promises.”

<*>

That afternoon, after a nap had turned into something that had almost made her late, Melinda took her seat at the large, circular conference table. Behind her on the wall was the SHIELD logo, because after _everything_ they were still standing. That needed to be remembered.

The senior agents of this new SHIELD were gathering for the first time in person, or at least as much as they could. Agent Weaver was still overseeing their new training facility in upstate New York, not too far from the new Avengers compound. Even so, looking around the room at the familiar faces had a warm glow spreading through Melinda’s chest.

Mack, Trip and Bobbi had taken seats next to each other, and Victoria Hand was sitting opposite, Isabelle Hartley at her right as always. Maria was still barking orders into her phone, Natasha, Sharon Carter and Jimmy Woo watching her in indulgent amusement, and Daisy was hovering in the doorway like her invitation had been a mistake, as if she hadn’t been one of the reasons that SHIELD had gotten this far.

To Melinda’s left, Jasper had his nose buried in his coffee mug and his eyes locked onto a Starktab. He was lucky he was cute. Elsewhere on the base, Koenig and his brothers were organising logistics, Simmons was setting up her biochem lab for when she wasn’t out in the field, and Steve Rogers was probably skulking around because for all his protesting, he had as much interest as anyone to see SHIELD done right this time, Sam Wilson and James Barnes his inevitable shadows.

A beat later, Nick entered the room in a dramatic swirl of black leather, and Melinda’s lips quirked in a smile, especially when Jasper’s head jerked up. Nick looked good in black leather, but he’d looked even better among the rumpled sheets of their bed that morning. Jasper had, too. Melinda blinked a little at Steve Rogers’ presence behind Nick, but only raised an eyebrow.

Rogers settled back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible -- as much as a six foot, heavily muscled soldier could. Melinda nodded when he caught her watching, and Rogers nodded back.

“Thank you all for being here,” Nick said, taking a seat to Melinda’s right.

As everyone settled around the table, Melinda glanced at the two empty chairs that had been left and pressed her lips together to hide another smile. Phil Coulson and Clint Barton would always have a place at SHIELD, but to be completely honest, Melinda was glad they weren’t there. Not because her friends didn’t deserve to be, but because they deserved the time away after everything they sacrificed. Time to themselves to heal and connect and remind themselves why they fought so hard.

Besides, this way they’d both owe Melinda a favour. A favour she’d remind them of when she, Nick and Jasper wanted to vanish on their honeymoon.

“Welcome to the new SHIELD Headquarters,” Nick said. “It’s not much, not yet, but it will be, thanks to all of you. I didn’t get a chance to say it, but I was and still am honoured to fight by all your sides. What you all did was above and beyond your duty, and it’s exactly that kind of loyalty to justice and protection that I want the new SHIELD to stand for. That SHIELD should _always_ have stood for.”

Around the table, backs straightened and shoulders relaxed. Nick had that affect. It was why he was such a good leader.

Nick cleared his throat. “Someone has to make sure this world keeps spinning on,” he said, a hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” Maria replied. She gazed around at the gathered agents. “The rebuilding is progressing on schedule. If you have questions about our current capabilities, please speak to either myself or Deputy Director Hand.”

ick shot a look at Maria. “Any update on my new Helicarrier?”

Maria pressed her lips together, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Nothing new since you last asked, sir,” she said dryly. “Construction is continuing, but keeping something on the scale of a Helicarrier secret with our limited resources isn’t easy.”

“Especially since Colonel Talbot and the Joint Counter Terrorisim Center are still trying to track all SHIELD resources,” Victoria added.

Melinda smiled as Nick scowled. “Didn’t we give them enough intel on Hydra to keep them busy for months?” he grumbled.

“We did,” Melinda said. “That doesn’t mean they won’t notice a large Helicarrier if we’re not careful.”

“That’s not all,” Bobbi said. “Trip and I have been doing some research. Baroness Zemo had a son -- Colonel Helmut Zemo, of the Sokovian Armed Forces. Up until recently, he was an intelligence officer and commanded an elite paramilitary tactical unit called EKO Scorpion.”

“Up until recently?” Jasper said, and Melinda had to agree with the wariness in his voice.

Bobbi nodded. “He seems to have disappeared -- right after his mother’s death,” she said.

“Because _that’s_ not ominous or anything,” Daisy muttered.

“There’s also still Strucker and Doctor List to worry about,” Trip added. “They weren’t at the Hydra meeting we crashed, and they’re probably gathering whatever leadership Hydra has left.”

Nick nodded. “And Malick?”

“Cooperating,” Natasha replied with a smirk, because she was handling his interrogation while he was being kept locked up. They’d grabbed him as he’d fled the meeting in Italy, and Malick had seemed almost happy when all SHIELD had done was throw him in a cell.

Maria tapped her fingers on the table. “Colonel Zemo is not our only connection to Sokovia,” she said, frowning. She pressed a button, and the holographic interface in the middle of the table sprang into life, which had been a gift from Tony Stark. “We still haven’t dealt with Hydra’s Sokovian research base.”

The hologram showed the Hydra research base, a sprawling white building complete with battlements and towers. It was probably an old, retrofitted military fort, which would add to the challenge of breaking in. They still hadn’t confirmed how many Hydra personnel were on site, either, although they did have satellite surveillance. Melinda had to admit that Stark did sometimes have his uses.

“According to our analysis, the research base is the most likely location for the sceptre Loki used during the attack on New York, which remains in Hydra’s hands,” Maria continued. “It’s also likely that the sceptre is not the only 084 or piece of alien technology that Hydra has.”

“Delightful,” Jasper grumbled.

“Do we have any idea what kind of research Hydra’s conducting in Sokovia?” Mack asked.

Sharon Carter quirked an eyebrow. “We do. Hydra’s Sokovian research base appears centred on running experiments on enhanced people.”

“Enhanced people?” Daisy interrupted. “You mean Inhumans?”

“Possibly,” Sharon conceded. “We haven’t confirmed that.”

“What we have confirmed is that so far, only two people have survived the experiments,” Maria said, tapping her phone again. This time the holographic display shifted to two faces -- a young woman with pale skin and long dark hair, and a slightly blurry image of a young man with white hair.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” Maria said. “Twins. Born in Sokovia, and orphaned at ten when a shell collapsed on their apartment building. Exact intelligence is limited, but as far as we can tell, he’s got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis, and her thing is neutral electric interfacing, telekinesis and mental manipulation.”

Maria huffed when almost the entire table just stared at her. “He’s fast and she’s weird,” she said.

Trip hummed. “Do we have to worry about Strucker kidnapping more people to continue his experiments?”

“Actually, no,” Sharon replied. “According to our intel, the twins volunteered for Strucker’s experiments.”

Maria snorted. “It’s insane.”

Rogers raised both eyebrows, stepping away from the wall. “Yeah, what kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them in order to protect their country,” he said dryly.

Maria narrowed her eyes. “We’re not at war, Rogers.”

“They are,” Rogers pointed out, and for all his mild tone, his eyes were flinty.

“Captain,” Nick said, cutting through before Maria and Rogers could really get into it. “I need you to coordinate with Stark to gather the Avengers. As soon as we have a plan, we’re deploying you to Sokovia to deal with the base and Strucker.”

“Sir,” Rogers said with a nod.

“Hydra is not our only concern,” Victoria Hand said. Nick had made her a Deputy Director alongside Maria, and Melinda could only agree with the choice. Victoria was a good woman to have in your corner. “Following what happened in New York and with SHIELD, there’s growing chatter about an international register for powered individuals. That could be of concern.” She flicked a glance towards Rogers. “It could also impact what happens to Sergeant Barnes.”

Rogers’ clenched his jaw, but remained surprisingly silent. Possibly because Rogers had already defied orders on multiple occasions to keep Barnes safe, and he was hardly going to stop now. Melinda didn’t disagree -- she, too, would go to extreme lengths to protect the people she loved.

“Keep an ear on the chatter, Commander Hand,” Nick said. “We need to know if it starts to escalate. As for Barnes, we’re following his wishes so far, and I’m content to keep doing so until we have a reason not to.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “Barnes may not be the only Winter Soldier out there,” she said.

“Not to mention the potential for more weird and creepy supercomputer apocalo-bunkers,” Daisy said. “If there were two copies of Armin Zola, there may be more.”

Melinda huffed, because the threats never stopped. That’s why SHIELD was needed. “So we kick some ass,” she said. “What’s new?”

Nick’s mouth curved into a smirk. “As always, Agent May has a point,” he said. “Hydra is still out there. We cut off some heads, but Hydra is not a simple enemy. Nor is Hydra the only enemy we face.” He paused to gaze around the room. “It hasn’t been easy. Now, we all know the pain of losing, of watching everything we sacrificed and bled for crumble.”

Nick swallowed heavily, and Melinda stretched out her hand, hidden by the table, to rest on his knee. Nick wasn’t willing to show it -- he was never willing to show it -- but SHIELD’s fall had hit him harder than almost anyone else. Yet, he’d been one of the first to stand back up and try again. It was what made Nick such a good man, and was one of many reasons why Melinda loved him and would always love him.

“We still have a fight on our hands. A fight for the oaths we made, for the people we’ve lost. We have to take the risks so that the sacrifices they made were not made in vain,” Nick continued. “Hydra may have lost the advantage, but we’re still being hunted. It will take time to clear our names, to remind the world what SHIELD stands for, but we _will_. We might be ghosts, we might be forced to live in the shadows, but we are SHIELD agents. We will continue to save people, to protect them, even if they don’t know it and don’t want it.”

Nick paused, his gaze moving around the table to the agents gathered, strong and sure. “We are the shield. We will _always_ be the shield,” he said. He gazed around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes. “Dismissed.”

Melinda stayed where she was as everyone slowly filed out. She caught Jasper’s eyes when he stood, and Jasper ducked his head, offering her a sweet smile. “Meet you for dinner?” he asked quietly.

Things were still somewhat new between Jasper, Nick and herself, but they’d somehow managed to settle into a balance that felt _right_. Shared meals and sleeping together in the same bed, even if it was just sleeping after their individually exhausting days, helped. “I wouldn’t miss it,” Melinda told him.

She rose to her own feet and reached out to grab Jasper’s hand before he moved. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to Jasper’s lips. “Even if only to get you to remember to eat,” she added.

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I think you’re mistaking me for Nick,” he said.

“Agent Johnson, can I have a word?” Nick called out, interrupting them.

Jasper huffed and shot Melinda another smile before he shuffled out. Melinda hung back, silent, until the room was empty. Daisy fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt before consciously stilling the movement. She’d come a long way since Phil had found her in New York, especially with Melinda’s ongoing training, but she still had a few bad habits Melinda was doing her best to eliminate.

“Uh, sir?” Daisy asked.

Nick walked over and handed Daisy a paper file. Daisy blinked, glancing down at it before looking back up at Nick, confusion written all over her face.

“She’s someone you might be interested in,” Nick said.

Daisy flipped open the file. “Elena Rodriguez,” she read.

“Just something to keep in mind,” Nick told her, smiling his best enigmatic smile. Inwardly, Melinda rolled her eyes.

“Thanks?” Daisy said.

Nick nodded to her, and then turned and did the same to Melinda. “May,” he said, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up into a smile, or the lines around his eye softening. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Happiness was a good look on him.

“Fury,” Melinda replied with her own nod.

Happiness was a good look on them all.

Nick left in a swirl of black leather, but Melinda lingered as Daisy flipped through the file. They all had their own orders now, their own ways to build SHIELD back up again into what it should be, to make it better than before.

“You ready?” Melinda asked.

Daisy glanced up, her nose scrunched. “You mean to run missions as an actual SHIELD agent, track down a bunch of mysterious Inhumans and thwart bad guys, while, oh yeah, uncovering the weird conspiracy involving my parents?” She snorted. “Sure.”

Phil had always had an exceptional eye for potential, but damned if he didn’t pick the ones full of sarcasm. In Daisy especially he’d found someone who wouldn’t just be an exceptional field agent and team leader, but someone who would lead and guide off the field as well. It was almost like Phil had been trying to fill his own shoes.

Melinda nodded her head towards the door. “Trip, Mack and Simmons have already signed on, and Bobbi’s thinking about it,” she said as they headed down the corridor.

“Thinking about what?” Daisy asked, falling into step beside Melinda.

Melinda shot her a look. “Your strike team.”

“Wait, Fury assigned me to a strike team?” Daisy asked, eyes widening.

Inwardly, Melinda sighed because inspiring loyalty and snarky comebacks were not all Daisy and Phil shared.

“No,” Melinda corrected. “The one you’re leading.”

“I’m… wait, _what_?” Daisy spluttered, stopping in her tracks.

A few steps ahead, Melinda allowed herself a smile where it wouldn’t be seen. This was going to be fun.

“Come on,” Melinda called out, because they had somewhere to be.

Daisy hurried to catch up. “Where are we going?”

SHIELD didn’t have many resources left, and little chance to build any yet, but Nick hadn’t played all his aces yet. He’d been keeping a few back, and this one he was letting Melinda play.

“If you’re going to lead a strike team, you’re going to need to operate out of somewhere,” she told Daisy.

The Bus would be perfect for that.

“Besides,” Melinda added, slipping on her aviators as she headed for the hangar. “You’re going to need a pilot.”

<*>


	31. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: So, this fic has been a journey. At times it was overwhelming and a real struggle, but I finished it. I can’t actually describe how that feels right now. Thank you to everyone who read and commented and stuck with me through this. You are all amazing, and I am forever grateful <3.

_ Kauai, Hawaii _

Phil stretched slightly as he woke, yawning, and slowly blinked open his eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, slanting across the bed, and the sheer curtains shifted in the faint breeze. Clint was a line of heat against his left side, his face pressed into Phil’s shoulder and an arm slung over Phil’s waist.

Humming what would have been a complaint if he’d been more awake, Clint tightened his grip on Phil’s waist and pressed his face further into Phil’s shoulder. Phil couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, warmth pooling in his chest. He turned his face to the side, letting his gaze roam across Clint’s beloved face, content to simply exist in the moment of peace.

The bed was tucked right up underneath the windows, which looked out over the lush, tropical vegetation spread out below them with hints of ocean between the trees and palms. The windows and balcony doors were wide open, even though the air was warm and sticky against Phil’s skin. It didn’t matter -- this was perfect and Phil wouldn’t change a thing. 

Clint pulled away just enough to bury his face into a pillow, about as adorable as a grumpy kitten, and Phil chuckled soft and low, shifting onto his side. Unable to resist, Phil slid a hand up Clint’s chest to cup his jaw. Gently, he tilted Clint’s face away from the pillow so he could lean in and press a soft kiss to Clint’s lips. Clint smiled, still half asleep and stubbornly keeping his eyes shut, and it took a great deal of effort for Phil to tear himself away and climb out of bed.

“No,  _ why _ ?” Clint grumbled.

Scooping up a pair of loose sleep pants he’d never gotten around to wearing last night, Phil shook his head. After he’d pulled on the pants, Phil leaned down, his weight on one hand, and kissed Clint’s shoulder. “Because coffee,” he replied into Clint’s skin.

He chuckled at Clint’s answering whine and headed over to the coffee machine, yawning. After making himself a cup, Phil wandered out onto the balcony to lean against the wooden railing. The view really was gorgeous, he’d just been a little too busy to notice when he and Clint had arrived yesterday.

The reason for which was the ring on his left hand, glinting in the sun. They’d  _ eloped _ . Just him and Clint, with Natasha and Nick as witnesses. It had been impulsive and possibly too soon in their relationship, but after all the sheer  _ fuckery _ they’d been through and survived, it had felt  _ right _ .

Felt like something they deserved.

They’d snuck away in New York, after everyone had returned to decide what to do next. Phil hadn’t even had to say anything to Nick -- he’d just smiled at Phil and said he’d be honoured to bear witness, because Nick was a good and loyal friend. There was still so much to do, but afterwards, all Nick had done was press some airplane tickets into Phil’s hand and told him to take all the time he needed.

It had been a long, hard road to get here. Not just for him and Clint, but for everyone. They’d all lost so much and had to fight for every small advantage, every piece of hope, and yet somehow, they’d all come out the other side. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d done it. Shown the world what SHIELD was made of, what good people could do. The remnants of Hydra may still have been out there, and no doubt a whole new era of threats and enemies, but for now, they’d  _ won _ .

Except after the victory, comes the weight of what has to happen next. Strucker and List were still on the loose, and SHIELD was still a scattered shadow of what it had once been, despite Nick’s best efforts. Nick would rebuild, make SHIELD stronger and  _ better _ than before, but it was a task that would take years. Maybe even the rest of their lives.

Phil wanted to be by Nick’s side to do it, just like he’d always been, but he was also so  _ tired _ . Of the fighting and the pain and the death. Of the price he’d already paid to SHIELD and to the world. Did he really have enough left in him to keep fighting?

“You’re thinking too hard, you know.”

Clint’s soft voice broke into Phil’s thoughts, and when he turned, Clint was leaning up against the door to the balcony. Like Phil, he’d pulled on some loose sleep pants and nothing else, his strong arms crossed over his chest and his eyes lit with mischief. The shadows hadn’t completely left Clint’s gaze after everything he’d suffered over the last year, but they were fading. Phil’s were, too.

Phil quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

Smiling, Clint crossed the distance between them, and wrapped both arms around Phil’s waist, his chin settling on Phil’s shoulder. “It’s our honeymoon, Phil,” he said.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, leaning his weight back against his  _ husband _ . “It is.”

He lifted up one of Clint’s hands from where it rested on his stomach and pressed a kiss to the gold ring now adorning Clint’s finger. Clint pressed a grin into the skin of Phil’s neck, and Phil couldn’t help his answering smile.

“Do you think everyone will be mad we eloped?” Clint asked.

“Only because they missed the party,” Phil said.

Clint chuckled. “I don’t know what kind of parties you usually go to, Phil, but I’m pretty sure the one we had last night was just for us.”

“You know what I mean,” Phil said. “Besides, it wasn’t like we planned it.”

Instead of answering, Clint straightened and reached down to extract the mug Phil still held. He set it down on the nearby table, and caught Phil’s fingers, tugging him towards the hammock set up on the other end of the balcony. Phil followed where Clint led, because he always would, but he couldn’t stop his smile.

“Didn’t we  _ just _ wake up?” he teased.

Clint flashed him a bright smile. “Who said we’ll be sleeping?” he said. “Maybe I just want to lie in the shade and snuggle my husband?”

And, really, what could Phil say to that? Other than  _ yes _ , because that sounded perfect.

There was really no graceful way to climb into a hammock, except maybe for Clint after his lifetime of acrobatic training, but somehow they managed, shifting until they were curled together, legs intertwined. Reaching out, Phil interlaced his and Clint’s fingers before he brought their joined hands down to rest over his mended heart.

“So,” Clint said finally, after the combination of warm, dappled sunlight and  _ Clint _ had almost sent Phil back to sleep. “Want to tell me what had you thinking so hard?”

Phil was silent for a moment, not because he couldn’t tell Clint, but because he wasn’t sure if he could put all his feelings into words yet. “The future, mostly. We don’t have to go back, you know,” Phil whispered softly, pressing it into Clint’s skin like a secret. “We could run away, maybe. Be new people.”

“Sit on a beach for the rest of our lives?” Clint said, amusement curling through his voice. “Nah. We’d be bored in a week.”

“Maybe,” Phil admitted, but he wasn’t sure he could face the fight again. Not so soon.

“Hey,” Clint said softly. He tilted Phil’s chin up until Phil could meet those amazing eyes. “We don’t have to go back anytime soon, but neither of us are made to sit on the sidelines, Phil. Fighting to make the world a better place is what we do.”

Phil let out a breath. Clint had a point. Could Phil really sit on a beach with Hydra still out there? Could he really stay on the sidelines?

“Yeah. You’re right,” he said, tilting his head to press his forehead against Clint’s.

Clint shifted, setting the hammock swinging, so he could look down on Phil. “I meant what I said. It doesn’t have to be soon, Phil. We deserve the break. But sooner or later? We’ll go back. I can’t see us doing anything else.”

Phil stretched up to cup Clint’s cheek, and Clint turned his face enough to press a kiss to Phil’s palm. “I love you,” Phil said.

Smiling, his eyes lit up with happiness and dappled sunlight playing across his face, Clint was beautiful. “I love you, too, Phil,” Clint whispered back.

He was still smiling when Phil pulled him in for a kiss. It was sweet and awkward because they were both still smiling, but it didn’t take long before it slid into something deeper. Even if he had  _ ten _ lifetimes, Phil didn’t think he could get enough of Clint, of his humour and his strength and the kisses that made him shiver.

Eventually, Clint pulled back with a hum, his gaze dark and his breath not entirely steady. “Hey, Phil,” he said, leaning in for another brief kiss, and Phil didn’t entirely trust that glint in his eye. That glint usually meant  _ trouble _ . “Want to see if we can have sex in a hammock?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Phil told him.

Clint grinned, pressing closer. “That’s not a no,” he replied.

It wasn’t a no. Clint knew him too well. Sliding a hand up to the back of Clint’s neck, Phil pulled him down for an open mouthed kiss because being this close was addicting, and now he and Clint had the rest of their lives to get into trouble.

Together.

  
  


The End.


End file.
